Stand Before Your God
by Miss Lalla
Summary: AU Book 5: There are tough choices looming on the horizon. Family, friends, Dark magic, and music are going to change Harry's life. How long is it possible for him to hover over the edge? One day he may have to stand before his god and commit. Grey/Indie!Harry. Sequel: All the King's Men
1. Chapter 1

Okay folks, backed by popular request, Stand Before Your God goes back online. I have not yet had the time to think about how to continue with the sequel, but maybe as I refresh my memory while reading the whole thing from the beginning I'll get some inspiration.

For any newbies to the story, please mind that it contains highly controversial and disputable pieces, there's a lot of politics, some religious themes, and the Harry you're going to encounter is definitely not one with divine powers and god knows what else. He's a teenager, this is a growing up story. There'll be a lot of confusion, some pain, some heartache, some humiliation - remember your own teenage years!

All in all, I do hope you enjoy it. I'll post a chapter every other day. There are 25 of those. Do leave me a piece of your mind in the review section;P

Cheers!

Miss Lalla

I don't own Harry Potter, nor anything else that you recognise (like witty quotes, and such).

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Chapter 1 - The Dream

Harry lay on his bed at number twelve, Grimmauld Place in the bedroom he shared with Ron Weasley, his mind wandering in the land between dreams and reality. The boy struggled with increasing annoyance to muffle out the sounds of the prefect party that was still taking place in the kitchen downstairs, though thankfully he was sufficiently tired to fall asleep before the noises turned unbearable.

_Suddenly, he found himself in a huge castle. The cloistered corridors were filled with the golden beams of the late-afternoon sunlight, there were ancient family portraits lining the walls, and the air was filled with the fresh smell of the forest which was clearly visible when one looked through the window. _

_On top of the magnificent, richly engraved stairs stood an old man dressed in elegant wizarding robes. For some reason, Harry was certain that the man's name was Emmanuel, and that his own was Ralph, at least to the regal figure which he was meeting. _

_'Emmanuel!' Harry shouted enthusiastically, running towards the man and hugging him around the midriff. The boy didn't seem to bother with the fact that his height seemed to be something around four feet two inches and that his voice was suspiciously high-pitched. _

_'Ralph!' the man replied sternly, pushing the child gently away and looking down at him. 'How many times need I remind you not to be late for your lessons? If it persists, I shall have no other option but to inform your father.'_

_Harry, or rather Ralph, had a decency to look properly chastised. He definitely didn't want his father to be told of his tardiness. Being late was a misdemeanour which his parents would never tolerate and the punishment was severe. _

_'Sorry,' he mumbled, staring at his shoes. 'I got a bit carried away with my new broomstick.'_

_'If you won't start to pay attention, I will have the broom confiscated and you will be writing Georgics for me. Is that clear?' Ralph knew that Emmanuel wasn't joking. The old man never did. Not since the time when he had first come to the castle to teach Latin and history to his grandfather's younger brother sixty years ago. _

_'Yes, sir,' he replied, as respectfully as he could without losing the impish glimpse in his eye. Emmanuel sighed, defeated. He had always had a soft spot for this particular member of the Selwyn family. _

_'Shall we proceed to the classroom, then?' the teacher asked, somewhat resigned. _

_When his pupil had comfortably sat behind his desk in the schoolroom, Emmanuel allowed himself to turn back into his lecture-mode. He strode towards the blackboard and picked up a piece of chalk. It was inserted into a small wooden holder to prevent the user from getting his fingers covered in white dust. _

_'Today we will continue with the principles of magic. We will talk about what makes the magic, how it is defined, how different species use it and how we may improve our understanding of it,' explained the teacher, writing the topic on the blackboard. _

_THE THEORY OF MAGIC _

_He had immediately told Ralph to take notes during his lecture and pay full attention, as there would be a quiz when he was done. _

_'Magic in itself is a very slippery concept, nothing that can be easily defined or described. Magical philosophers had tried for centuries, before finally admitting what Dark wizards knew all along. Magic is a wild energy that surrounds us. It cannot be caged and used. It is sentient. It gives a wizard yielding it power beyond his dreams if he only knows how to ask for it. If he only knows the correct rituals to connect his inner, relatively small levels of magical energy to the ambient magic flowing in the air around him.'_

_At this point Ralph raised his hand. Emmanuel stopped his lecture and motioned for the boy to speak._

_'I don't understand one thing,' he said, sounding confused, looking at his notes and scratching his temple with the tip of his quill. 'If the ambient magic can be used by wizards to their benefit, how come they don't want to use it? How come they don't just perform the rituals and get the magic to flow in their bodies and strengthen their inner energy? Wouldn't that make sense? I mean, wizards would be much more powerful if they all did that.'_

_'That's an excellent question, Ralph,' replied Emmanuel. 'The thing is, that connecting with your inner magic is considered by the majority to be of a very Dark nature. Most wizards are not strong enough to even attempt such a thing. They would drain their existing power and become Squibs. Especially those of Muggle heritage. In people of less than three generations of wizards and witches, the magic is very sensitive and the energy, although potent and sometimes very powerful, is not yet fully integrated with the soul. Those practitioners would either drain or kill themselves. That's why the Ministry has passed many acts banning the use of such magic.'_

_Ralph frowned. He still didn't understand the point of it._

_'Yes, but Dark is not evil. Why would they just pretend that all witches and wizards are the same? What they are doing is not to introduce the equal share for opportunities for everyone. They just give out an equal share of miseries.__'__ Ralph repeated the phrase that he heard his father use some time ago. Emmanuel chuckled at the witty comment, unaware that the child didn't come up with it by himself._

'_Yes, you__'__re right, obviously. But it is not about that. What we have here is the Ministry__'__s aversion to excellence. They want to produce scores of mediocre wizards and witches that would never be any threat to the Establishment. That is why education at our state schools has been dumbed down beyond belief during the last couple of decades. Intelligent and well educated people are dangerous. Those who can think for themselves are dangerous. It is much easier to rule nifflers than dragons. Besides, people fear what they don__'__t understand and with the influx of Muggleborns into our society, the Ministry is doing everything to accommodate them, to turn them into grateful pawns. As you know, or should know at least, even our most important traditions have fallen prey to the trifle Muggle fetes. People of first generation of magical heritage cannot connect to the ambient magic. Their own magic is not strong enough to sustain the continuous flow. That__'__s why Dark magic has been prohibited and is now punishable by the Kiss. It is not recognised anymore that Dark magic and Dark Arts are two different things, however similar the name. It__'__s mingled, and even those charged with using the Dark Arts have sometimes in their files stated that it was Dark magic that was used, which of course is not true.__'__ Emmanuel stopped for a moment, looking at his pupil as if asking him if he__ had__ explained enough. When Ralph smiled and beckoned him to continue with his interrupted lecture, the old man returned to his monologue._

'_What is really crucial to understanding magic is to remember that different magical beings use magic differently, thus leaving a different signature in a spell they create. For example, if you were to see a person suffering the effects of the Tickling Hex, you may determine by whom the spell was cast by the colour the aura would take if you used the aura revealing charm. I hope you remember the incantation. We covered it two weeks ago.__'__ Emmanuel looked expectantly at Ralph. The boy__'__s ears turned pink, as he tried searching his memory for that particular spell. _

'_Err... Yes, sir. I do remember,__'__ he said finally. __'__It__'__s __**Aura Revealo**__.__'_

_The old master smiled genuinely. _

'_Very good,__'__ he praised and then picked up with the lecture. __'__I will assign you reading on the topic and I expect an essay on the use of magic by different species by Monday. You shall read __**Magical Theory: Extended Version**__, chapters nine through thirteen, and __**Magical Potential**__, full version of, preferrably, the latest edition. Don__'__t go for anything older than from the fifties, as there were some astonishing discoveries in that field of magic during forties, which are obviously not included in the earlier editions.__'_

_That said, Emmanuel gave the boy the first book, but the second would have to be found in the castle__'__s library. Ralph sighed. The place was so disorganised it would take him ages to find anything in there. _

'_Excellent.__'__ Emmanuel rubbed his hands energetically. __'__I believe we have covered the basics. Now, what I would like to share with you is a very precious piece of lore and should be therefore treated with great caution. You are to be careful when trying to attempt any of the rituals I am about to disclose and never tell anyone about it, understood?__'__ The boy nodded. __'__Right. I will give you some scrolls where everything is properly described. You mustn't carry them around, or take them outside the castle, as everything they contain is highly illegal.__'_

_Emmanuel handed the boy ten thick, yellowish sheets of parchment. Ralph was fascinated. He had always wanted to perform one of the rituals, but would always be told that he wasn__'__t old enough. Today was different. Master Emmanuel trusted him enough to give him written instructions on how to connect with the ambient magic, how to increase his own energy levels, how to interact with the wild power that resided all around him, that whispered to him and teased him, but never really allowed him to get close enough to taste it. _

'_Thank you, Emmanuel,__'__ said the boy, looking tenderly at his teacher. __'__So, what about that quiz of yours?__'__ He asked nonchalantly, slouching back in his chair._

_The old man grinned. __'__No quiz. I just wanted you to pay attention.__'_

_Great, Ralph thought sarcastically. And his hand hurt so much..._

'_Run along now.__'__ Emmanuel pushed him out of the room. __'__Just remember to come back after lunch for history and etiquette.__'_

_The wind played with his hair as he ran across the neatly trimmed lawn. Two of his friends were waiting for him at the end of the gravel path by the gates of the Selwyn Castle. They were hoping to play some broomstick tag, and maybe even go to the village nearby. But Ralph knew that..._

'... ignoring me!' Harry opened his eyes, startled by the sudden yelling. Feeling oddly peaceful, in a corner of his eye, he saw Ron and Hermione arguing. The boy shook his head in desperation, looking at the clock on the wall. It was nine in the morning, the sun was already high up in the sky and the birds were chirping merrily in the small park nearby.

'Could you keep it down, please?' Harry asked, yawning widely and stretching his arms against the headboard.

'Good morning, Harry,' Hermione said, sending Ron a death glare. 'You're up finally. Ronald here was just trying to get his point across, but as usual he seems unable to do it without raising his voice.'

Ron huffed irritably. 'Well, if it wasn't for...' the redheaded boy was already beginning to get defensive, when Harry suddenly jumped out of his bed and ran quickly out of the room towards the bathroom, catching his friends off guard. They silenced immediately, but after a moment both of them burst out laughing.

'That was pretty pathetic, wasn't it?' asked Ron, shaking his head. Hermione's look answered his question, showing him that the girl's thoughts travelled along the same lines.

'Right,' he muttered. 'Okay, let's go to breakfast.'


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Diagon Alley

At half past nine, when every inhabitant of number twelve, Grimmauld Place took their seat at the long kitchen table, Molly Weasley served breakfast. There was so much food, that Harry wondered if the woman had stayed up all night only to treat them all to such a feast. He served himself some poached eggs, bacon, toast and marmalade and filled his glass with the freshly squeezed orange juice. Everything was so delicious that all the plates were licked clean just fifteen minutes later.

'Have you done all your homework, children?' Mrs Weasley asked in her most motherly voice. 'We will be going to Diagon Alley in one hour, so you can all get the books and equipment you need.'

Harry felt heat rising up behind his collar at the mention of homework. He still had not finished his Charms essay, which was due the first day after the holidays. He would have to work on it tonight if he didn't want to get a week's worth of detention at the start of term.

After helping Mrs Weasley with washing up, he and Ron went upstairs to their bedroom. They needed to get ready for the trip and tidy up their room. That was an order from Ron's mother, who commented on the appalling state of the place and threatened to leave them behind if they didn't hurry.

'What to do with that?' asked Ron, picking up a stack of dirty clothes from underneath his bed. Harry snorted.

'I think you best put it in the laundry basket,' he replied, pointing to the wicker basket by the door.

'Obviously,' Ron muttered, clearly embarrassed for not having thought of such a simple solution. Soft chuckling erupted from Harry's side of the room, which earned him a smack on the face with Ron's dirty sock.

'Yuk!' He cried in disgust. 'Don't throw your shit at me!' Encouraged, Ron ran up to Harry and dumped the whole bunch of clothes he was holding onto his friend's head. With laughter, they jumped onto one another, fell over and rolled around on the floor, wrestling. That was how they were found by Hermione, who came to tell them that they were about to leave and that Mrs Weasley said that their room had better be clean when she comes up for inspection when they will be in Diagon Alley. Looking guilty, they left the mess behind and ran down the stairs to meet with the rest of the Order.

'Did you tidy up your room?' Molly asked sternly, looking pointedly at her youngest son. He cringed under her stare.

'Yeah,' he lied uneasily. 'Moderately,' he added quietly.

'Then you won't mind if I go and check?' she queried sweetly.

'Not at all, go on,' Ron said beckoning his mother in the direction of the stairs. The moment she disappeared in the first floor corridor, Ron and Harry began hastily chasing everyone out of the house, urging them to leave before the irate Molly Weasley comes back. At the sound of the angry bellow, 'RONALD WEASLEY!', all of them cleared out through the front door as fast as they could. On the way to Diagon Alley Ron and Harry congratulated themselves on their cleverness.

'Right,' began Tonks, looking pointedly at the group of youngsters in front of her. 'You are to remain in the main alley at all times, and don't wander alone. Remain at least in pairs or groups of three. And have fun!' The young Auror finished with her usual impishness.

Hermione went with Ginny to Madam Malkin's, leaving Ron and Harry to fend for themselves. Of course, the two of them used the opportunity and immediately ran off to the Quality Quidditch Supplies Shop, where they were hoping to see some new models of racing brooms, preferably something very fast, swift and beautiful in its simplicity. Unfortunately, since the Firebolt, the producers had yet to come up with something even equally fabulous. It made Harry breathe out a sigh of relief to know that he had still sported the best broom in existence.

'Look at that.' Ron was pointing to something that flew around the cage attached to the ceiling. 'Isn't that the Snitch?' he asked, marvelling at the beauty of the tiny ball. Hermione would have already told him off for his stupidity. Being amazed by a super-fast, golden ball? Ridiculous! But Harry was equally awe-struck. He had never seen a Snitch for sale before through all his years in the wizarding world, beside the cheap imitations made of some fake metal. But the balls in the cage were definitely real, he could tell from the way they shone in the daylight and the sound their wings made when moving. It was something no forgery could make up for.

'Blimey, they cost a hundred galleons!' Ron gasped, staring in bewilderment at the price tag.

Harry looked longingly at the Snitches flying carelessly in the golden cage. He would really like to buy one. He would love to have the little ball for himself, to be able to play with it whenever he pleased. But even he had to admit that it was an unnecessary item, and damn expensive, too. He didn't really know how much money his trust vault held, but he was sure that if he went on spending it on every thing that tickled his fancy, the small fortune might not last him beyond his school years.

'Come on, let's grab some ice-cream at Fortescue's. My treat,' Harry said, dragging his friend away form the temptation.

A magnificent cup filled with ice cream only convinced them further that Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was the best café in Diagon Alley. Not that Harry had ever visited anything beyond that and the Leaky Cauldron, but as far as he was concerned, the ice cream served at Fortescue's surpassed everything he had ever tried.

'So, what now?' Ron asked, scrapping off the remaining bits of the dessert from his cup. 'Books?' His face grimaced as he said the word.

'Well, as we have to buy them anyway, might as well do it now and have it done,' he replied, also lacking the enthusiasm that Hermione had usually shown.

The Flourish and Blotts bookshop was one of the most crowded establishments in Diagon Alley. Every day, hundreds of witches and wizards would visit the shop, buying books for school, work, to update their libraries or just for the fun of reading.

Personally, Harry didn't see anything interesting in reading. It was dull, the action and adrenaline rush were practically non-existent and it required a participant to sit for hours, doing nothing. All things that Harry hated with a passion. That was why reading had never really taken off with him. And that was also why he was still lacking the basic knowledge of the wizarding culture in which he had spent the last four years of his life.

While looking for his course books, Harry walked up and down the aisles, trying to spot something interesting, but to no avail. There were advanced books on every one of his school subjects, some heavy and dusty tomes on the history of magic, which Harry wouldn't touch bearing in mind the perilous lessons with Professor Binns, a lot of literature, classics, books on politics, cooking, gardening, and many others. There was however one thing that caught his attention.

_**Magical Potential**_.

Harry frowned at the sight of the very same book of which he had dreamt last night. It was... odd. Completely bizarre. He had never even heard of a book like that before, and the old man in his dream was definitely a figment of his imagination. After all, what else could it be?

Unable to fight back the curiosity, Harry pulled the book off the shelf and started flipping through the pages. There were chapters on what was the magical potential, how it could be used, how different species used magic, and how wizards of different magical heritage used magic. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. With his breath and heartbeat faster than normal, Harry looked helplessly at the book in his hands. What on earth was that all about? He had never heard of this book before, he had never seen it. How could his subconscious know about it? There was also another book in his dream. Harry was about to look it up, when he realised he didn't remember the title. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the _**Magical Potential**_ onto his pile. He wasn't about to leave it when there was a mystery to unfold.

The boy got back together with Ron at the check-out tills, his face still flushed from the excitement of finding the odd book. Ron's pile was significantly smaller, as most of his books would be inherited from his older brothers.

Harry goggled his eyes at the price of the extracurricular book he had decided to buy. Twenty galleons? For goodness sake, all his other books combined didn't cost more than five! Well, at least that would be an incentive to read it. After all, why buy such an expensive book for it only to waste away in his trunk?

That evening, oddly enough considering his dislike for reading, Harry had a great craving to read the _**Magical Potential**_ he bought earlier that day, only to find himself buried in his Charms essay. Ron was getting a huge dressing down from his mother for the stunt with the room he had pulled in the morning and Harry just couldn't concentrate amid the yelling of Mrs Weasley and Mrs Black, and Ron's arguments for his defence. Irritably, he wrote one more sentence and decided that it was time to write conclusions. Maybe his essay was more like two feet and four inches instead of the full three feet required, but the boy believed that he did cover the subject quite nicely. Besides, he wasn't Hermione to write a book on the subject of the colour-changing spells and their practical uses in real life situations. The topic was so boring that Harry took almost a month to finally finish the blasted thing. If he found that his efforts were in vain, he would really think of murdering the midget of a professor.

'Have you finished yet, Harry?' Sirius stuck his head inside the room, grinning broadly.

'No,' the boy groaned. 'I still need a conclusion of sorts.'

'Easy enough,' his Godfather said cheerfully. With his help, Harry had soon finished his prep and leaned back, relaxing the sore muscles in his back.

'I have something I would like to give you,' Sirius said and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. 'It's a two-way mirror. I have the other one of the pair. If you ever want to talk to me, don't hesitate to use it. Just say my name into your mirror and I will be able to hear and see you on the other side. I used them with your father when we were assigned separate detentions at school.'

'Thank you, Sirius.' Harry got up and hugged his godfather. 'It will definitely make keeping in touch easier.'

The Marauder just grinned mischievously and ruffled the boy's hair.

'Come to supper when you're ready,' he said brightly. 'Molly's making pork chops. Hers are the best.' With a wink, the man left in a hurry to get to the kitchen before the Weasley boys managed to devour all the food.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harry couldn't fall asleep that night. He tossed and turned in his bed, annoyed at every little sound that reached him from Ron's bed. Finally, the boy threw off his covers and left the room. At night, the old house seemed even spookier than during the day, but Harry didn't particularly care. He wasn't one of those who flinched at every shade.

The boy went down to the kitchen and prepared himself a cup of tea. He couldn't find any milk, even after rummaging thoroughly through the old-fashioned refrigerator, and in the end decided to leave the brown liquid. He didn't like the bitter taste it had. Sighing, Harry set on exploring the house. He didn't have much chance to do it during the day as it was said that the rooms that were not cleaned yet hid some strange and sometimes even dangerous creatures or substances, so they were explicitly banned from them. But now that everybody was asleep, no one would say 'no' to his entering the otherwise forbidden places.

The first room Harry went into was the drawing room on the ground floor. It wasn't overly large, it might even be considered cosy if someone had bothered to clean it up and change the creepy black decorations and figurines of snakes, manticores and holly that were scattered around the room. Harry walked around, looking at the faces in the family portraits. He had to admit that there was no Black girl who wasn't pretty. They all had wonderful, thick hair, usually dark or auburn, but sometimes also icy blond. They all were tall and willowy, with oval faces and nice straight teeth. What caught Harry's attention was a big picture on which frame someone had rudely carved a line with a sharp tool, '_Dear cousins: Marlene Potter and Thomas Selwyn'_. Harry stared at the portrait. The clothes told him that it was probably from the middle of the nineteenth century, although he never really knew if magical clothes dated similarly to those of Muggles.

Marlene Potter was a very beautiful woman, slender and tall, with long, flowing red hair and luscious features. Harry didn't think that she was a conventional beauty. She definitely wouldn't fit in today's canon, but the boy was mesmerised. To him, the woman had a face and a pose of an angel.

Thomas Selwyn, on the other hand, was absolutely revolting. He had shoulder-length, flat, black hair, long hunched nose, thick, bushy eyebrows and a very pale skin. He looked almost ill and was a head shorter than the lady next to him, even though she seemed to be at least twenty years younger. But...

_Potter. _She was Marlene _Potter. _And for solely that reason Harry wanted to know more about her. She must have been his family. But he had no idea where to look for information. Sighing, the boy decided to ask Sirius in the morning, even if it meant being told off for wandering where he wasn't supposed to.

With that resolution, Harry continued his examination of the portraits in the room. There was Lady Walburga Black when she was a young girl of about eighteen. Harry was shocked to realise that the beautiful creature smiling gently in her picture was the same person that haunted the corridor, shouting and insulting everyone that dared to pass along.

Then he found Horatio Black, Milligold Black and Rosanna Black. The latter was one of those rare jewels of the family with platinum-blonde hair and blue eyes. In the picture Rosanna was dressed in a golden wedding gown, or at least that's what Harry took it for. The silver tag at the bottom of the frame stated, 'ROSANNA BLACK, née 1892 - ... ; THE OATH CEREMONY'. The boy didn't know what an Oath Ceremony was, but again was strongly drawn to the beautiful girl. Rosanna couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen when the painting was made.

Releasing the breath he didn't realise he was holding, Harry started peeping into the drawers, feeling a bit intrusive. His curiosity won over scruples, however, and soon he was staring at some old diaries, crystal phials full of potions, family treasures and jewellery. There were rings, earrings, necklaces, pendants, tiaras, bracelets, and many kinds of pins and brooches. Harry was particularly interested in something that looked like an engagement ring. It was an emerald surrounded by small diamonds on a platinum ring.

'That was my mother's engagement ring.' Sirius' voice coming from the doorway made Harry jump. He blushed and quickly put the ring away, closing the drawer shut.

'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'Didn't mean to pry.'

'It's all right,' Sirius replied, shrugging his shoulders. He looked around the room and a smile crept over his features.

'Who was Marlene Potter?' Harry asked suddenly, then turned his head away, embarrassed. He felt that he shouldn't have asked that question.

Sirius looked a bit taken aback before his eyes fell on a portrait of the lady in question and his features relaxed again.

'She was a daughter of your great-great-grandfather,' he said trying to sound as casual as he could. Marlene Potter was not a person he ought to be discussing with his godson. She was a Dark witch, who dabbled in the darkest of magic which killed her in the end. 'In this picture she must be around seventeen, I'm not sure. I don't know when it was painted. She was a cousin of the Black generation of the day through her mother, Bellena Black, hence the inscription. She's there with Thomas Selwyn. He was supposedly a complete twit. Many people say that he was illiterate and couldn't even speak properly, though I don't know if this information is reliable. We've got a couple of his political treaties in the library. They are astonishingly good for someone of such a poor reputation. Of course, they may have been written by someone else but the name's not common, so I don't think that is a possibility.' Sirius looked at the pair thoughtfully. 'They married later on and had four sons. I know that Thomas's mother was Bellena's older sister, Bella. Bella was married off to Lord Selwyn when she was barely fifteen and gave birth to her only son just one year later. Bellena gave birth to Marlene some ten years after that. It's a shame, really. Marlene was rather pretty. And they practically sold her off to such a horrid man. Her dowry must have been worth more than the entire fortune of the Notts, and that means something, believe me.'

Harry stared more intently at the painting. The more he gazed at the man, the less ugly he seemed. And his features looked rather intelligent, with high forehead and cheekbones. Maybe Selwyn did something that caused him to be resented later on and someone just wanted to smear his good name?

'How about this one?' Harry pointed to Rosanna in her glorious gown. 'What's an Oath Ceremony?'

Sirius looked at him sternly.

'It's a highly illegal practice,' he said, turning his head away.

'But you know, don't you? I know you do.' Harry's voice sounded disappointed. He desperately wanted to know something and so far everything was held away from him.

'I...' Sirius stammered. 'I shouldn't be telling you this. If Dumbledore knew...'

'I won't tell him.'

The man sighed. It wouldn't hurt to tell the boy the truth, would it?

'Well, you see, not all wizards see magic as we do. Normally, you draw magic from within yourself, using the energy that you already have. Some families believe that you can connect with the ambient magic that surrounds everything everywhere if you only know the correct rituals, which you have to perform on certain days of the lunar calendar.'

Harry drew his breath in sharply, looking at Sirius with wide eyes. His dream...

Meanwhile, his godfather continued.

'The magic gives you power, allows you to reach the peak of your bodily possibilities, but at a price. You may never betray it. I won't tell you what counts as betrayal as I don't know myself. Only those who have sworn during the Oath Ceremony to Magic know what it is.'

'Why is it illegal?' Harry asked curiously.

'Well, since nineteen twenty-seven, connecting with the ambient magic is considered to be of Dark nature. Though truth be told, there is nothing bad about it apart from the fact that most wizards cannot do it. They are not powerful enough, because the magic they have is not developing properly due to the dumbed down educational system. You see, Harry, one hundred years ago you would be learning animagus transformations by your fifth year. These days, judging as most witches and wizards have their magic too sensitive to the ambient magic, they can't perform the transformations. And, of course, the Ministry wants to equalise the chances of Muggleborns who are unable to become animagi at all.'

The last revelation shocked Harry.

'So, what you're telling me is that the blood purists are to some extent right?'

Sirius snorted.

'Well, it probably depends on how you look at it. Muggleborns can be just as powerful, they can be just as good or even better at performing magic. Just look at Hermione. She surpasses every pureblood at school. But it doesn't change the fact that she will never be able to become an animagus. It is also true that Muggleborns never receive rare magical gifts, like parseltongue, metamorphmagus transformation, mind magic, and such.

'It's for their benefit that the Ministry introduced the ban on using magic outside school and the restrictions on animagi. I'm not saying that in a bad way. You know I have nothing against Muggleborns per se. But when I hear some of them say that it's good that the ban exists because they wouldn't want to be deprived of the possibility to do magic while their pureblood or half-blood friends can, my blood boils. It's unfair either way and it's weakening our magic, because of lack of exercise. Magic is like muscles. The more you use it, the stronger it gets. Tell you what? You can use magic in this house. It's warded against Ministry detecting it. I wanted to tell you at the beginning of the holidays but Molly wouldn't let me.'

Harry stared at Sirius open-mouthed.

'So I could use magic all along?' he asked, a wide grin spreading across his face. 'Ace!'

Suddenly, Harry realised how tired he was. He yawned widely, making Sirius laugh.

'Go to bed, kid. I'll see you for breakfast.' He winked and left, leaving Harry to his own devices.

It was three a.m. when Harry finally got to bed. He fell asleep the moment he placed his head on the pillow, unaware of Ron's snoring anymore.

He dreamt of swimming_. He was in a big lake, moving peacefully in the water, contemplating the surroundings. There was a castle in the background, but it wasn__'__t Hogwarts. It was smaller and more elegant. _

'_Ralph! Get out here, boy!__'__ shouted an angry man walking briskly with a dog by his side down the hillside from the castle. With wide eyes, the child recognised his father, his very angry father. _

_Ralph scrambled out of the lake and slowly walked in the direction of Lord Selwyn. The moment he came close enough for his father to touch him, the boy felt the man grab his ear an pull on it painfully. _

'_Ouch!__'__ he cried, trying to wriggle away. _

'_Stop blubbing,__'__ Lord Selwyn admonished his son and started dragging him towards the castle, never letting go of his ear. Whimpering, Ralph paced after his father, trying to keep as close as possible to minimise the pain in his earlobe._

'_Emmanuel has been looking for you for an hour! You were supposed to be in your lessons not lounge around doing nothing! If I don__'__t see you try, you__'__ll be sent off to boarding school where they know perfectly well what to do with little idlers like you!__'_

_Lord Selwyn threw Ralph into his study and closed the door behind them. _

_The dream changed. Emmanuel exited the study with a red- and puffy-eyed boy in tow. He pitied the child in the depths of his soft, old heart, but he knew that the boy needed to learn that self-discipline and good time management were crucial to success. _

_As they entered the schoolroom, Emmanuel motioned for the boy to take a seat behind his desk and take out a parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink. This time there was no discussion, no talking, no raised hands. Just pure historical facts._

'_Today we__'__ll cover the historical situation of witches and wizards, particularly during the Middle Ages, when it was the most dire. _

'_In the ancient times, especially in the tribal societies, witches and wizards were revered. They were considered royalty and that__'__s why so many of them to this day occupy the thrones of the world. Ninety per cent of the royal houses of the world are of wizarding heritage. Our Queen is from one of the oldest lines still in existence, the wizarding blood going as far back as the times of the Roman occupation when it was first documented. It is believed that her line was magical a couple of hundred years before that too, though it's nothing of what we can be certain. _

'_Another thing is that with the spread of Christianity, magic began to be considered evil. It was thought to serve Satan and to bring fatalities in people and destroy crops. Wizards adopted the religion at some point to show that the non-wizarding people were mistaken. It didn__'__t change anything, though, just made it worse. They would burn our homes, kill our babies and destroy our settlements. We called it __"__mugging__"__, and that__'__s how the term __"__Muggle__"__ was first coined. It was very pejorative at the beginning, but then lost its connotations and became a generic term. _

'_During the Dark Ages and the Middle Ages, Muggles would hunt down wizards, catching us at night, in our beds, defenceless and helpless. They burned at the stake thousands of men and women, even our children were not spared. Of course, the majority of them were just ordinary Muggles, suspected of witchcraft. But around fifty thousand witches and wizards were killed during the witch-hunts, which vastly decimated our numbers. There were two hundred thousand witches and wizards in Europe before the Middle Ages. By the time the Renaissance came, our population has decreased by a fourth. It was to a large extent Muggleborn witches and wizards that were killed, given over by their terrified families, who believed them to be children of Satan. Purebloods, protected in their castles and wizarding schools scattered around the country, rarely suffered any losses, but children were sometimes caught. They would then be burned at the stake and their ashes thrown in the air, which was thought to save their souls from eternal damnation._

'_During the later years, wizards became extremely wary of Muggles, they refused to interact with them at all, and Muggleborns suffered for that too. They were accused of selling magical secrets to their Muggle families. And that didn__'__t change to this day. Even if Muggles do not engage in witch-hunting anymore, the memories of yore are still alive in the hearts of the population. Wizards still hide from Muggles, Purebloods still despise Muggleborns, and those of magical heritage born without magical power are shamed and avoided at all costs.__'_

_Ralph listened to the lecture half-heartedly, but the Harry-soul inside him listened more intently than he__'__d ever listened to anything in his life. Despite being monotonous, it was fascinating. He just wished he could ask the old wizard about the Flame-Freezing Charm that his History of Magic textbooks talked about. _

Harry woke up at seven in the morning. The sun was pouring into the room through the window and he felt well-rested, despite having gone to bed so late.

Ron was still snoring, contented, when Harry returned from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, so he decided to leave him and go to breakfast alone.

Sirius was already there, sitting at the table with a newspaper and a mug of coffee. But the newspaper wasn't The Daily Prophet. It was called The New Magi, and had a funny brand icon of a dragon scratching its head.

'Good morning,' Harry said cheerfully, sitting at the table and serving himself some orange juice from the copper jug. Sirius only grunted distractedly, while Mrs Weasley replied with a similarly joyous 'Hello, Harry, dear.'

'What is it that you're reading?' Harry asked, trying to catch a glimpse of the headlines. He noticed that Molly shot his godfather a dirty look.

'Oh, it's just a daily newspaper,' Sirius said off-handedly. 'Slightly less popular than The Prophet, but I find it a little more... um... unbiased,' he finished, glaring daggers at Mrs Weasley, as if daring her to contradict him. The woman pursed her lips and tasted the stew that was boiling on the hob. She decided to ignore Sirius instead of humouring him. She hated those silver-spoon-fed young people who took everything for granted and never worked a day in their lives. And however much Sirius tried to deny his upbringing, his accent, choice of clothes and newspapers clearly showed that he was one of the breed. Molly snorted and took to peeling potatoes. But Black's next words made her gaping like a fish.

'Have you finished, Harry?' the man asked, gazing at his godson over the top of the newspaper he was still buried in. 'Tonks and I are going to take you shopping to Diagon Alley. You need some decent clothes.' Here Sirius looked with distaste at Harry's hand-me-down trousers, which were at least three sizes too big.

The boy blushed slightly, but his face almost immediately brightened. He had never had enough time to get properly tailored wizarding robes, or he was with Ron who would glare jealously if Harry ever dared to spend more than one galleon. And Tonks and Sirius were famous for their fashionable clothing among the members of the Order. After all, they were both Blacks and, as Harry had already realised, the Blacks had an impeccable taste. Shopping with them would be a pure pleasure.

But four hours later Harry would give everything to take these words back. Pleasure? Shopping was a pure nightmare. Fitting, cutting, pinning... Different colours, fabrics, models...

In the end, when Harry had finally got out from Galahad Boutique for Wizards his head was spinning and he was thanking heavens above that the torture was over. Sirius, in his dog form, made sounds as if he was choking with laughter upon seeing Harry exit the shop and breathe in the fresh air ceremoniously. Tonks patted the boy on the shoulder.

'We should probably be going back,' she said, grinning widely. At last now she was able to see Harry in something better than the rags he had inherited from his cousin. At the moment, he was dressed in black trousers, a collared shirt and a blue v-necked jumper. On top of that, he had a black robe opened on the front, and a pair of elegant black shoes.

'You look like a human being, Harry,' she praised him, smiling. The boy laughed, as they turned into the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. 'We have to go back quickly. If Molly informed Albus of our escapade, we'll be in trouble,' Tonks continued, looking around, as if to see if there wasn't an irate Albus Dumbledore or Molly Weasley lurking in the background.

'He didn't want us to go?' Harry asked worriedly. He had absolutely no intention of getting on the bad side of the headmaster.

'Well, we didn't really tell him,' the girl admitted. 'But it doesn't matter. Sirius is your guardian in the magical world, at least formally. Dumbledore cannot decide for him. And as your godfather and guardian, he had every right, nay, a duty to make sure you're properly attired.'

That reassured Harry. It also made his heart lift up a bit. Sirius cared about him. And it seemed that Tonks did as well, if she was ready to risk the ire of the headmaster to help them. This day was turning to be so much better.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello! Did I say I would upload the chapters every other day? Well, sorry, I lied;) Truthfully, though, I won't be able to upload one tomorrow so I'm doing it today.

**Slytherin66 **I think I've already told you once that I absolutely adore your reviews, but allow me to do it once again. They are gorgeous, I really love your insight, and I would like to thank you very much for reviewing every chapter so thoroughly.

That said, I would also like to thank the rest of you who reviewed. I hope that you continue reading and sharing with me.

Cheers!

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Chapter 4 - Back at Hogwarts

Harry sat alone in his compartment thinking about the weird dreams he had been having for the last two weeks. They seemed so real, and the information he received in them was yet to be proved false, especially since every bit of it could be found in the Blacks' library or by asking the members of the Order. Some of them seemed less than happy with him for questioning the educational standards or Muggleborns' ability to become animagi, but Sirius and Tonks were both quite forthcoming and Harry was certain that they would never lie to him.

What was really strange, however, was the fact that he had never heard about the things that Master Emmanuel talked about. And he had never met any Ralph in his life. But all of it was so pleasant, so effortless, and so interesting. He couldn't bring himself to actually ask for a Dreamless Sleep Potion, even if some of those dreams made him really anxious.

Harry was far from trying any of the rituals he had learned from Master Emmanuel's teachings. He wasn't sure what they would do to him, but from his conversations with Sirius he gathered that most of it did nothing bad. He gained some of his knowledge from talking to the portrait of Lady Rosanna Black, too. She was a very pleasant person if one managed to break through the icy exterior, and the moment she heard Harry's surname, Rosanna took it upon herself to teach him what it meant to be a Potter. After all, her own mother was a Potter and she cared deeply about the family's good name.

The boy seemed fascinated with learning about his family, however many generations back it was. He loved the stories about his Victorian and Edwardian relatives, their moments of bliss and dreadful embarrassments. Marlene Potter sometimes chipped in too, but she was a rather quiet portrait, more interested in staring lovingly at her companion and prospective husband than talking about herself and her family.

'And when James Rowan Potter managed to finally squeeze through, his mother was crying that he was dead and his poor father wanted nothing more than to thrash him soundly for being so clumsy,' Rosanna said one day, telling Harry the family anecdote about the disastrous ball, when the fifteen years old James R. Potter managed to destroy all the decorations and artistic desserts, which were laid out on the tables during the grand social event of the season. When she had finished, the last remaining Potter laughed himself silly on the sofa. Later, drying the tears of merriment from his eyes, Harry asked Rosanna about her worst public gaffe, to which she replied,

'Careful, young man!' She threatened him with her finger. 'You don't want to aggravate your century-old aunt, do you?'

That only made Harry laugh more. Before he came to talk to her the next day, the boy asked Sirius about something embarrassing from the life of Aunt Rosanna. Apparently, she was quite promiscuous in her youth, flirting shamelessly and ditching everyone who dared to court her for too long. In the end, the one who won her heart was Bertie Mallory, who, despite his ridiculous name, or maybe because of it, was a very decisive young man. One of the no-nonsense kind, that is so rare in these awfully deficient times.

But Harry never dared to taunt Rosanna about her love life. She was still scary, and the honey in her voice made her even more so. The fact that she was just a portrait didn't make the boy any less afraid of her. However, she was quite open about her relationship with Bertie, whom she considered to be one of the most amazing men that had ever walked the surface of the Earth.

'Oh, Bertie was a dear,' she said one day, as Harry and Sirius sat on the sofa in front of her, drinking tea and crunching biscuits, trying their best not to laugh at her dreamy expression. 'He would bring me chocolate truffles every Saturday morning for breakfast and say that these were the most wonderful sweets for his most wonderful sweetheart.'

At that moment, Harry wanted to make a gagging noise, but restrained himself trying not to hurt the feelings of the old portrait. Sirius had no such qualms.

'Does that mean that he had other sweethearts, too?' he asked, which resulted in his being thrown out of the door. Or rather running away from the screeching picture. Rosanna didn't hold the grudge, however, as the next day Sirius was back with them, talking as if nothing had ever happened.

Harry sighed, leaning his head against the cold window. How he wished he could stay with Sirius and not go back to Hogwarts. His friends were too preoccupied with themselves and their prefect duties and Harry felt like an intruder, especially when they sat close to him and whispered to each other. Of course, he knew that sooner or later Ron would start to care more about Hermione and vice versa, as they were giving off such signals ever since the third year. But really, he expected them to be at least a bit more considerate.

At this time, his two best friends should just be coming back from their prefect duty to keep him company. Obviously, if they didn't hide in some secluded compartment for a snogging session. Breathing deeply, Harry closed his eyes trying to rid his mind of all images.

'_In and out. In and out. Slowly. Try to relax all your muscles. Think of something pleasant and loose yourself in it.__'__ Emmanuel stood over Ralph, who was lying on a sofa with his eyes closed and a look of utmost concentration upon his face. __'__Don__'__t be so tense.__'_

_Slowly, the small boy relaxed visibly, his face so peaceful as if he were asleep. _

'_Good...__'__ Emmanuel whispered, stroking the child__'__s dark hair. __'__Now, picture a place where you feel most comfortable. Remember, the sense of security within your own mind is extremely important while learning occlumency. You need to create a "safe house" in your head where you will be able to store all your memories.__'_

_Ralph thought of the playing fields outside the castle. Their vibrant green colour resounding in his mind, whispering and daring him to continue. The boy smiled softly. __'__Yes,__'__ he whispered, feeling that he__ had__ accomplished something at last. _

_There was a quiet __'__Legilimens!__'__ and Ralph felt a presence tugging at his mind__'__s outer layer; a coat, as Emmanuel called it for his pupil__'__s benefit. The boy tried not to panic. To fight off a mental attack one had to be relaxed. It was crucial to get rid of the emotions flowing in one__'__s head, to let one__'__s body soften and to steady one__'__s breath. Gently, Ralph managed to pull all his memories deep into the inner layers of his mental barriers. He smiled lazily, feeling that he__ had__ done something extraordinary. And right he was. When the boy opened his eyes, he saw Emmanuel looking at him with satisfaction. _

'_That was very good,__'__ he praised, ruffling the child__'__s hair. __'__Next time we__'__ll work on conjuring mental images and faking feelings. Your father will want to check on your progress on Saturday. I believe he wishes to supervise your learning more closely. Be ready and don__'__t shame me. And remember to protect your mind at all times. Lord Selwyn will want to know that you__ have__ learned Occlumency.__'_

'... be tired. He didn't sleep much lately,' Harry heard Hermione's voice speaking. 'I reckon he spent his evenings with Sirius in this run-down drawing room on the ground floor. I don't even know what they were doing there. Sometimes Tonks would join them too.'

'They were just talking, as far as I know,' said Ron, scratching his head. 'And playing some board games.'

Harry chose this moment to announce his awakening.

'Um... hi, when did you get here?' he asked, looking sleepily at his friends. Both of them jumped up, startled, making Harry snort with laughter. Hermione smiled apologetically.

'Did we wake you?' she asked, sounding concerned. 'I know you didn't sleep well last couple of nights, not with all the conversations with Sirius and Tonks you have had.'

'Yeah, mate, sorry,' said Ron sheepishly.

'Oh, it's all right.' Harry waved his hand dismissively. 'I was waiting for you to come and then I just fell asleep. I don't know how it happened. I felt pretty well-rested in the morning.'

The remainder of the journey passed quickly. They played Exploding Snap and talked about everything from schoolwork, through OWLs, to what a pity it was that the school was about to start and they didn't have any more free time. Even the traditional visit from Malfoy and his little gang ended quickly and without bloodshed.

Harry looked wistfully at the Hogwart's Express as they got into the carriages that were to carry them to the castle. The boy had already started counting the days until Christmas, when he would once again board the train and go to London to reunite with his godfather.

The Sorting Ceremony took longer that usual. Harry wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for Ron, who grumbled in the middle that it never took this long for the feast to start. Snorting with laughter, Harry shook his head and began looking at the teacher's table. There were three new faces, one of whom the boy recognised and wondered why would she be here. It was Dolores Umbridge, a woman from his disciplinary hearing, one of the few who voted for him to be charged as guilty. Harry squinted his eyes, while inspecting the rest of the head table. He certainly did not want any more surprises. The other two new teachers were sat comfortably, clapping politely upon every sorted pupil, whereas Dolores, with a ridiculous smile, watched everyone gathered the Great Hall. With perverted satisfaction, Harry concluded that the woman looked exactly like a toad. She even smiled like one, showing all her teeth, while her cheeks stretched beyond belief.

Finally, after almost an hour of Sorting, professor Dumbledore rose from his seat. His eyes twinkled with the usual merriment, his voice as jovial as Harry remembered it from the hearing, when he had last seen the headmaster.

'Welcome to each and everyone of you, both old and new,' the professor said, which made some of the pupils snort with laughter. 'As the new year is about to begin, we must put away childhood and play, we must say goodbye to the idleness of the holidays, and get down to work. And the expectations placed on you will be higher with each year. The first years will have it harder than at home or prep schools, the second years will have it harder than the first years, and so on. After all, you must all be prepared for what is to come in the real world, when you leave this school after taking your NEWTs.' Here Dumbledore paused for a moment. He gazed around the Hall, smiling. 'I know that you are all hungry, so I will cut it short. Let me introduce the new members of staff. Miss Victoria Lovell,' he pointed to the youngest of the newcomers, 'will be helping Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing. Professor Robin McDolloughay will be your new Ancient Runes teacher. Unfortunately, professor Babblins had to leave the country and abandon the post. And last but not least, professor Dolores Umbridge will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.' A round of applause erupted in the Great Hall, though everyone was looking suspiciously at the new teachers. Will they be any good? Will they be nice? These were the questions that they asked themselves, trying to discern something from the newcomers' appearance.

'Ehm...' A soft grunt stopped professor Dumbledore from continuing his speech. It was Dolores Umbridge, rising from her seat and coming to the front, so everyone would hear her. There were many scandalised expressions. After all, no one had ever dared to interrupt the headmaster's speech.

'If I may, professor Dumbledore?' Umbridge asked sweetly, but there was a dangerous glint in her eye. When the headmaster motioned for her to speak, the new professor turned to face the pupils and smiled broadly. Harry could see Fred and George Weasley pretending to vomit into their empty goblets.

'It's lovely to be back here, at Hogwarts, and see all your bright and youthful faces before me, so eager to learn.' Harry looked around. No one seemed happy to be addressed in such an infantile way. And they certainly didn't look bright right now. Everyone was famished, and that woman was prolonging the waiting time for the beginning-of-the-term feast. They felt all but glad. But Umbridge was far from finished.

'Earlier this summer, I was offered the post of the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor here at your school. I had every reason to decline, but in the end I decided that it would be to our mutual benefit that I take it. You see, I care deeply about the education of young witches and wizards, and so does the Ministry of Magic. This year, His Excellency The Minister of Magic will announce a range of radical changes in the way your education proceeds. The Ministry is hoping to raise the standards of your classes, to make lessons more challenging and, by extension, to make you better wizards after you leave this school. Probably many of you will want to take Apprenticeships, maybe some of you will go on to study at one of the magical universities, even though so few from state schools do these days. By introducing our new reforms, we are hoping to enable you to reach the height of your magical potential. Our goal is to return to the academic standards of the thirties in less than five years.' Here Umbridge paused and looked with satisfaction at the shocked faces of the youth before her. She smiled brightly and carried on with her speech.

'I know that many of you will struggle. I do realise that for many of you it will be a huge change. You may not want it in the beginning, you may shun it and detest it. But you must bear in mind that your great-grandparents studied animagus transformations by the time they were fifteen, that they knew how to cast a Patronus and Fidelius Charms by the time they left Hogwarts. Those of you who are lucky enough to own ancestral homes have to know that the protections raised around them were regular spells taught at this school just three decades ago. The Ministry appreciates, of course, that for many of you some of the most complex magic is beyond reach and abilities. But it doesn't change the fact that you should all strive for excellence and never settle for the second best. Today, everything seems lost. But the Ministry is determined to see the standards back in place. We will restore good quality education for everyone, not just the limited few at elite public schools, or those with private tutors. We want to see discipline back in classrooms and common rooms, we want to see the return of competitive sports back into our state schools available for everyone; not just Quidditch which can only be enjoyed by the selected team members. We want initiative, traditions, values and dedication. We want the teachers to teach again, not fill in forms and reports. Above all, we want to see this school compete with the best institutions around the world. Hogwarts is one of the oldest schools of magic in the world, one of the most famous and one of the most inclusive. We don't want our national pride to go to waste. Thank you.'

In the end, everyone just stared.

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AN: Did I shock you? Well, Umbridge is going to be slightly OC in this story, hope you don't mind;) That doesn't mean, though, that she will lose her nastiness. Ickle Harry is in for quite some bother:P


	5. Chapter 5

Hello, folks:) Thank you very much for all your fantastic reviews. To be honest, I don't remember this story being so well received the first time round, at least not at the beginning. Here's the next chapter for your enjoyment (hopefully). I'll probably post chapter 6 late tomorrow (GMT zone;P) or on Sunday. Cheers!

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Chapter 5 - Politicking

The Gryffindor common room was in an uproar. At every table, on every sofa, in whatever direction one looked, there were angry pupils discussing the events of the evening. No one wanted to go to bed, despite it being long past their curfew, and regardless of the inevitable prospect of lessons in the morning hanging in the air.

Harry was sitting with his two best friends at their favourite table by the fireplace. He was still reeling from the shock of tonight's information and didn't know what to say. However, Hermione had no such troubles. She was being very outspoken about Umbridge.

'That... that cow!' Hermione screamed on top of her lungs. 'How dare she say that the standards have fallen? She, the representative of the Ministry! The very same Ministry responsible for dumbing down the system! Is Fudge trying to win the next general election by appeasing the voters? Pretending to give them exactly what they want?' The girl fumed with righteous rage. But she was not finished yet.

'The Ministry cannot afford the reforms they talk about,' Hermione said silently, realising that her outburst had scared the few first years sitting nearby. She sent them an apologetic smile. 'Not without vastly cutting expenditure on other, much more important services. One hundred years ago we were an imperial power. We could afford to have the best schools with the best provisions. It's not the case any longer, and Fudge cannot continue to tax the people endlessly. They will rebel sooner or later.'

Harry stared at his best friend. What she said made a lot of sense, but there was one other flaw in the Ministry's plan that she had overlooked. Umbridge and the rest of idiots working for Fudge were completely out of touch with people and magic. While listening to the woman's speech, Harry had had a feeling that she was advocating the return to the Old Ways. He thought that it was about the reintroduction of Dark magic, only in small steps, so the population of the wizarding world wouldn't be scared. But the farther she got in her monologue, the more Harry believed her to be playing with politics. She wanted political support, and not, as she put it, _'initiative, traditions, values and dedication'._ The boy knew that there were big problems looming on the horizon. Problems not easily solved, or even unsolvable, without drastic measures that would enrage the magical population. He realised that they were on the verge of something huge. He didn't yet know what it was, or how he was going to react to it, and he didn't care at the moment either. With a wide yawn, Harry went to bed and fell asleep before he knew it.

_Ralph ran along the corridors of the castle that had belonged to his family for more than seven hundred years. Not only was he already late for his etiquette lesson, but having gone to bed very late the day before, he had slept in and didn't have the time to get properly groomed. Emmanuel was going to be angry and Ralph didn't feel like taking on the ire of his tutor at the moment. Nevertheless, he knew he would have to. _

_Breathless, he arrived at the schoolroom's door and was about to knock when he heard loud noises coming from the other side. _

_'I don't know what you're talking about, old man, and I advise you to leave before I call for the guards to throw you out,' Emmanuel shouted. Ralph thought it funny that his more-than-nine-decades-old teacher would call anyone else 'old man'. _

_'But, my dear child,' began an unknown voice. This time the eavesdropping boy almost choked on the air he was breathing in. Child? How old was the other person? A millennium?_

_'No! How can you be so tiresome?' Emmanuel sounded exasperated. 'I don't want to have anything to do with you or with your ridiculous school. I have never taught more than three pupils at the time, I hate undisciplined, annoying brats, and I do not wish to leave my present position. I have taught three generation of this family. I will not change it on a whim of an old man who comes here, trying to patch up his deficient staff. And remember that we do not see eye to eye when it comes to teaching magic.' _

_Whoever the other person was, the last remark shut him up. Ralph breathed a sigh of relief. From what he understood, the man talking to Emmanuel was trying to recruit him to teach at some wizarding school. And however strict and demanding the old man was, Ralph loved him as his mentor and caregiver. He would never want him to go. _

_'If you put it this way, Emmanuel,' the person said icily. 'But remember, dabbling in Dark magic is highly illegal. There is nothing that could save you if you were to be caught.'_

_With the final word, the door swung open, startling Ralph who jumped back to avoid being hit. The boy looked back and saw a magnificent figure, tall and imposing. It was an old man with long white hair and beard, and twinkling blue eyes. Ralph recognised him from his chocolate frogs cards. It was Albus Dumbledore, thought by many to be one of the greatest wizards alive. _

_'Well, well, well... If it isn't the young Ralph Selwyn,' he drawled, the tone of voice completely unmatched with his thunderous expression, every syllable enunciated as much as possible. 'Wish your master luck, boy. He'll need it in the days to come.' _

_That said, Dumbledore swung his luminescent robe and strode down the hall, towards the gates of the castle. _

_Entering the schoolroom, Ralph looked up at his teacher._

_'What was that, Emmanuel?' he asked, wondering what the whole exchange was about. The master's expression was a mask of stone. Ignoring the boy's question he invited him to sit at the desk and take out his book. They were going to start with hosting tea parties for friends of pureblood and aristocratic origin._

Harry woke up early in the morning feeling well-rested, despite having gone to bed so late. Ron was still snoring loudly, as was the rest of his friends, so he decided to have a quick shower and go wait in the common room.

The boy chose his clothes for the day and entered the bathroom. It was squeaky clean. The house-elves must have tidied it up after yesterday's splash fight Seamus, Dean and Ron had before going to bed. Harry put his clothes on the chair that stood next to the bathtub and stepped under the shower. Despite the cold water in the shower, it felt really good to wash, especially since he neglected that the day before. He was too tired after the feast to think about anything other than the warmth of his bed.

Contented, Harry turned off the water, got dried and dressed, and was about to start brushing his teeth when something very unexpected happened. He looked in the mirror and instead of his messy black hair saw a dark chestnut mop. But that was not the end of the surprises. His face seemed more rounded, more childish. And his eyes were stormy grey, not their usual vibrant green. Staring mortified at the expression in the mirror, Harry did the only thing that came to his mind at the moment. He screamed on top of his lungs and pulled painfully at his hair.

'Harry, mate, you all right?' Ron asked worriedly, poking his head into the bathroom.

'What happened to me, Ron?' the boy lamented, still thrashing his hair and inspecting his face in the mirror.

Weasley looked at him oddly.

'I don't know, man, but you really don't look any worse than usual. What is it? Did you get acne, or something?'

Harry gaped at his friend incredulously. Was it possible that he didn't see what was happening? Maybe it was just magic of Hogwarts playing pranks on him and giving him some delirious visions? After all, why would he look like the boy from his dreams?

Harry decided to stop acting suspiciously. If Ron didn't see it, then there was a chance that it wasn't real.

'I must have had a bad night,' he said finally. 'For a moment I saw something weird on my face.'

Ron snorted.

'Right. But next time, Harry, don't scream like a girl at six in the morning. I was really hoping to have a bit of a lie-in today.'

'I didn't scream like a girl! Take that back!' the boy cried, indignant.

'Yeah, well, you're doing it again now, you know?' Ron smirked. 'Honestly, lay off mate, or the rest are gonna think that you're sleeping in the wrong dorm.'

Harry blushed furiously and stomped out of the bathroom and down the stairs to the common room. While there, he sat on the threadbare leather armchair, waiting for Hermione to come down and go to breakfast with him.

The first thing that happened to him in the Great Hall was professor McGonagall giving out the timetables. With a groan, Harry noted that the first lesson of the day was Defence. How on earth was he supposed to last in the same classroom with that toad? The very same that wanted him to be expelled from Hogwarts?

Deciding not to bother for another half hour, the boy scooped some eggs and sausages onto his plate and buttered a piece of toast. He was about to bite on it when he spotted Ron skipping over in a hurry, his hair bed-ragged and his uniform in a worse mess than usual.

'Hello, mate,' said Harry cheerfully, clearly wishing to annoy his still sleepy friend. 'How was your snooze?'

'Not good,' the Weasley replied gloomily. 'And make no mistake, I hold you responsible for that!' He added, devouring scrambled eggs and bacon on toast.

'Why is that?' Hermione asked curiously. 'Did something happen?'

Ron grinned maliciously and before Harry managed to shut him up, he tattled.

'Well, Harry's obviously had spotted some pimple on his face and was wailing like a banshee in the bathroom at dawn,' he explained, shaking with laughter. 'He woke the whole dorm up. It's a wonder that you didn't hear anything.'

Hermione smiled softly.

'I don't see any pimples on your face, Harry,' she said playfully. 'Are you sure you weren't hallucinating? Maybe it was the light? Or the early morning hour?'

She and Ron laughed merrily. But Harry had had enough. He left his half-eaten breakfast and walked away, not looking back even for a second. His face was burning red. He felt absolutely embarrassed.

'You reckon what's got into him?' Ron's voice sounded incredulous. Hermione only shook her head, staring in exactly the same direction Harry had just left. The girl was well aware that their friend had been moody for some time now, avoiding their company and spending more time alone than he used to. She just wanted to know where did that come from.

'You better do something with that mess on your head,' she said instead of commenting on the redhead's question. 'If Umbridge really means what she said yesterday, you don't want to look this scruffy in her classroom.'

Harry was one of the first to arrive for Defence. He had no desire to do so, but his friends' words made him so angry that he just couldn't stay in their presence any longer. He knew that his behaviour was irrational, but he didn't care. He just wanted this day to be over so he could go to bed and wallow in his dreams, feeling safe and pleasant. He wanted to be Ralph again, to feel as careless as the little boy did, to be able to go swimming in the lake, play broomstick tag or cricket with his friends, to run in the emerald green playing fields on his father's estate, to discuss in his childish way the contemporary politics and magic with Emmanuel. He just wanted to be a kid he had never had an opportunity to be before.

And then it hit him. Maybe these dreams were just the way of his mind to give him all that he wanted? Maybe, having been deprived of a normal childhood, love and care of adults throughout his entire life, his mind was now conjuring images of what a happy life could be?

But how could he explain that the things taught by Emmanuel were available to check in the library if one only looked deep enough? Or the book? **The Magical Potential**, which he put in his trunk and had no time to finish reading?

Harry sighed in exasperation. He really wanted the answers to be easily obtainable, he wanted his problems to go away, so he could live a peaceful life. He snorted. That was impossible. Especially not now, that Voldemort had come back. He was the Dark Lord's top priority for destruction.

Coming back to reality, Harry noticed that Umbridge had entered the classroom through the back door and was now sitting behind her desk, sipping tea from a delicate, porcelain cup and looking at him intently.

'Good morning, Mr Potter,' she said sweetly, setting the cup down. 'I wasn't expecting anyone to be here as early as...' she looked at the clock on the wall, '... twenty minutes before time.'

'Sorry, professor,' Harry muttered, unsure of what the ugly witch's problem was. 'If you want me to, I can wait in the hall.'

Umbridge's smile became even broader.

'But not at all, my boy,' she replied with a soft giggle. 'There's no need. You're, of course, welcome to come to class early. It's a world better that if you were to be late.'

'Yes, professor,' came an automatic answer.

The time remaining to the start of the lesson Umbridge and Harry had spent in silence. The boy drummed his fingers on the desk, waiting impatiently for the bell to announce the start of the morning lessons, whereas his professor slowly drank her tea, all the time observing him closely.

Finally, people began to arrive. First, a bunch of Slytherins and Ravenclaws. They took the best seats available in the classroom, and Harry would have been angry had he not come there sooner and chosen for himself the very spot he was interested in. The Gryffindors had, obviously, arrived last, cutting it short before the start of the lesson. Umbridge frowned disapprovingly from her seat.

When everyone had been seated, the professor rose from her chair and walked to the front of the desk in order to be better seen and heard, all the time smiling broadly.

'Welcome to your first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term,' she said authoritatively. 'The Ministry has come to appreciate that your teaching in the subject has been less than satisfactory and has decided to instruct you form the very basic level to ensure that you are well prepared for your OWL examinations.'

Giggling slightly, Umbridge continued.

'Defence Against the Dark Arts is a very important subject, one of the most important you are studying at this noble school, however, unless you thoroughly understand the very basic level on which Magic operates, you have no chance of gaining the understanding of the superior levels, which will come to you during your NEWTs study time and the education later on, whatever path you wish to pursue. As such, please take out your books and read the first chapter. We are going to talk about it as soon as you do.'

Umbridge returned to her seat behind the desk among the sound of the rustling of pages. There, she continued to sip her tea and watch the pupils with a self-satisfied expression upon her face.

_What utter bullshit!_

Harry stared at the piece of parchment handed to him under the desk. He recognised Ron's handwriting. It was hard to disagree. The textbook was more boring than the boy ever thought possible. He looked at his friend, giving him a half-smile, and then scribbled a reply in his own messy script.

_Yeah, one would think that Dumbledore would have taken care to make sure we are being well prepared, especially considering Voldemort._

Harry passed the parchment back to Ron and turned his head towards the book, pretending to read, while really waiting for his friend's reply. He didn't need to wait long.

_True. Hey mate, do you think we could sneak out to Hogsmeade and buy some butterbeer for the party? I was thinking, maybe firewhiskey, too? We could keep it in the broom cupboard next to the entrance to the tower. No one ever looks in there. _

Harry had a hard time not to snort with laughter. Leave it to Ron to come up with the most insane plans during school. Glancing swiftly at Umbridge, just to see that she continued to scrutinise everything like a hawk, Harry discreetly wrote back.

_I don__'__t know, mate. We could, sure. You think Seamus and Dean will go for it, too? I don__'__t think there__'__s any point asking Neville. I bet he__'__d rather stay in bed. We just have to make sure Hermione doesn't know. She__'__d skin us alive. _

Ron's reply came immediately.

_Right. Better not talk about it here. Umbridge__'__s staring. She might notice something. We__'__ll talk about it in the dorms this evening. _

Harry nodded at Ron, who was looking at him expectantly. The redhead acknowledged it with a smile and the two of them returned to reading the chapter. Harry almost laughed out loud when he read how important wand movements were in shielding spells. There were even little diagrams showing the correct use of the _Protego_ shield. This was the material they had learned with the nitwit Lockhart in their second year. If the first lesson was any indication, Umbridge was going to be a horrible teacher.

'I hope everyone has finished,' the professor chirped, her voice dripping with honey. Upon receiving confirming nods, she asked, 'Who will tell me, please, what the author thinks about the shielding charms and how does he argue his theory?'

Harry stared into the text. Even though he had read the whole chapter, he didn't recall the author ever giving his own opinion on any matter. Well, he might be able to tell the author's poor attitude towards defensive magic from his depreciation of practical application during the process of learning. But there were no arguments given to support that theory.

Not surprisingly, Hermione's hand went up.

'Yes, Miss ...?' said Umbridge, pointing to the girl.

'Hermione Granger, professor. If I may...?'

The woman nodded in consent.

'Well, I don't believe that the author shows his attitude outright.' Hermione stated thoughtfully, confirming Harry's musings. 'However, I'd say he opposes the learners using the shielding charms during practical exercises. He thinks that it would be detrimental to the process of learning and could cause harm from the reflected spells. He also says that at the beginner's level, there's no need to use defensive magic and that by attentive acquisition of theory a learner will be able to grasp the practical use later on, when it is actually needed.'

Hermione bit her lip, as if thinking of saying something more. Apparently, she decided against it, as there was no sound coming from her after the last sentence.

'Very good, Miss Granger. That will be five points to Gryffindor.' Umbridge smiled brightly. 'As your friend said, the practical use of shielding charms should be discouraged at the early stage of learning, because...'

Harry didn't listen anymore. For him, every word that the toad said was a load of piffle. And to think that just twelve hours ago he thought that she was advocating the use of the Old Ways. Pfff... She was just a crappy teacher, who wouldn't let them use magic and who worked for the Ministry, trying to ensure Fudge's victory during the next general election. She was just a sophist, without any real plan or wisdom. A hypocrite, exactly as the rest of the morons working for the Ministry.

Harry was glad when the lesson was finally over. However, when he was just about to leave to go to the next lesson, the girly voice of Umbridge called him and Ron.

'Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, stay back, please.' Her tone of voice, though sweet as usual, contained a hidden threat. Harry felt a huge lump forming in his throat. What would she want?

'Mr Weasley, for sending letters under the desks during lessons, I deduct twenty points from Gryffindor,' she said, looking at Ron menacingly. 'I will not tolerate disruptive behaviour in my classroom. You are supposed to pay attention. For your appalling appearance, I deduct further fifteen points. Remember, it's school, not your home, where your parents may choose to allow you to run around looking as if you've just rolled out of bed. Here, at Hogwarts, you have to look presentable. Is that clear?'

Ron's face was red with embarrassment. Or at least, that's what it seemed to be. The truth was that the boy was more angry that anything else.

'Mr Potter, I would like to see the letter you are holding in your pocket,' the professor announced, extending her hand. Harry's heart skipped a beat. Oh no. No, no, no. That wasn't happening. He exchanged looks with Ron. The redhead's eyes were wide with fear.

'Now, Mr Potter,' she prompted. 'Or I'll deduct one hundred points from Gryffindor and take you to the Headmaster. You will then show the letter to him.'

With his hand shaking, Harry extracted the piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it over. He didn't miss the victorious glimpse in Umbridge's eye, nor the look of utter dread crossing Ron's face. He definitely knew one thing. They were absolutely screwed...


	6. Chapter 6

Hello! As promised, the 6th part of _Stand Before Your God_. Thank you very much for all your kind words!

**Important!** This chapter raised some controversy the first time round. Hopefully you won't flame me too badly for it;) Do put yourselves in the situation, it's not easy for poor Harry, though don't worry, soon he's going to taste some honey.

Now, on with the swill!

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Chapter 6 - Detention with Umbridge

'Well, well, well...' professor Umbridge drawled menacingly after reading the letter. 'Mr Weasley, you will report to Mr Filch's office every evening after dinner for the next three days, starting today. He will supervise your detentions. When you are finished with them, you'll come to my office. We will have an important conversation about school rules, the responsibilities of a prefect, and further consequences for conspiring to break them. You are dismissed.'

Ron shot a worried glance at his friend, then shook his head with a resigned expression on his face and left the classroom.

Umbridge turned her head towards Harry. The boy gulped loudly, clearly seeing that the toad was much more angry with him than with Ron.

'_Especially considering Voldemort,'_ she read out loud from the parchment. 'What am I to understand by that, Mr Potter?'

Harry looked at her oddly. Was she really that dense? And since when anyone in the wizarding world pronounced the name of the Dark Lord without fear and stuttering?

'I'd think it's obvious, professor,' the boy replied, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. 'I have witnessed the return of Lord Voldemort. He killed Cedric Diggory. He is back, and denying the truth will not do us...'

'That's enough!' Umbridge cut him off mid-sentence. 'Let me make one thing clear, boy. No one believes the lies you are spreading. No one saw any proof of what you're saying. The Ministry's Aurors agree that You-Know-Who's not back! There's no possibility that he is, and you're just trying to destabilise the Ministry and scare the wizarding community. But make no mistake, we will not let your scheming destroy what we hold most dear!'

Now, that was really pompous, Harry thought. She sounded like some desperate wartime leader, trying to convince the people to fight back. But the problem was, Umbridge was trying to do exactly the opposite.

The boy had no idea what to say. He wanted to scream at the toady professor, he wanted to hex her into oblivion. But... what would be the point? She had behind herself the entire Ministry of Magic, she was a teacher and he was just caught red-handed, plotting to smuggle illegal items onto the school grounds. What's more, she had a proof of his wrong-doings, and he had no proof at all to back up his words, apart from the body of Cedric Diggory, which could just as well testify that it was him that killed the other champion. Well, maybe not. They would use the Veritaserum and find out the truth. But still... Oh! He mentally smacked himself. Exactly! Veritaserum!

'If you don't believe me, professor, why don't you use Veritaserum and find out?' he offered, a bit too cheekily. 'It would be the fastest and most efficient way to get the truth.'

Umbridge squinted her eyes, clearly annoyed.

'Mr Potter, I have nothing to else to say to you. You will report to my office today evening, right after dinner. Do not be late or you'll be required to come one more day for every minute. Dismissed.'

For the rest of the day Harry was in a very bad mood. Professor McGonagall only made it worse by stopping him and Ron after Transfiguration and explaining to them the gravity of their situation where the Ministry's representative was concerned. She told them to keep their emotions in check and not give Umbridge any reason to discipline them.

Harry hid in his dorm during dinner, having no desire whatsoever to face his friends, Umbridge or his head of house unless absolutely necessary. Wallowing in self-pity was much more appealing to him at the moment. At least when he was alone, everything was as he liked it to be and no one could tell him what to do and how to do it.

The time to go to his detention arrived inevitably, making him groan. At exactly the same time, Harry realised that he was actually hungry, having eaten nothing since lunch. Well, there would be time to regret not going to dinner later.

Dragging his body off the bed, the boy left the dorm and directed his footsteps towards Umbridge's office. The castle was still very quiet, with the whole school finishing dinner in the Great Hall, leaving no one to roam the halls. Now and then Harry would see a pupil running to and fro, some were even already assigned to pick the moss from between the cobblestones in the courtyard as punishment.

Hermione, of course, was not impressed with them getting a detention on the first day of school. She made it clear by refusing to help them with homework and going off to the library, where she was sure they wouldn't follow. Even after Ron explained to her that it wasn't their fault, the girl remained firm in her assumption that it would have never happened if they only behaved themselves during the lesson. And when the dreaded question came, 'What were you writing on this parchment, anyway?', they looked away and refused to acknowledge it. Ron started talking about the weather instead, so Hermione pursed her lips in distaste and left them without a word.

Harry sighed, arriving at Umbridge's door. He knocked, maybe a bit too forcefully, and entered upon hearing a muffled 'Come in, please!'. The toad sat in her leather armchair behind a large mahogany desk, dressed in the same, disgusting pink dress she wore in class in the morning. Harry looked around. The room was scattered with trinkets and knick-knacks, making it look like an antiques shop, and there were pictures of cats hanging on the walls. The boy immediately remembered Mrs Figg's living-room in Little Whinging, the only difference being that his old babysitter had mostly real cats, whereas Umbridge only had pictures. And it didn't smell like cabbage here.

'Good evening, Mr Potter,' she said, adding a spoonful of sugar to the cup of tea in front of her. She then stirred it gently and took a sip. 'Please sit down at the desk.' Here she pointed to the desk and the hard, wooden chair that were provided probably especially for his detention. Umbridge rose from her seat, took a long, black raven feather with an incrusted silver nib and handed it to Harry with a blank sheet of parchment.

'I want you to write "I will always say the truth and respect the rules" for the duration of your detention,' she chirped with a malicious grin.

Harry sat down and slid the parchment closer. He was about to start to write when a significant detail made him look up again.

'Yes, dear?' Umbridge asked with faked concern.

'You didn't give me any ink,' he voiced his problem.

'You will not need any.'

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry set down to work.

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

And then it happened. An unbelievable stinging in the back of his left hand. Harry gasped as the very same sentence slowly engraved itself in his skin. He looked up at Umbridge, seeing that she was observing him with a self-satisfied smirk.

'Yes, dear? Is there a problem?'

'No.' Harry would never give the toad the satisfaction. Instead, he continued writing with the cursed quill.

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

But by the third sentence, his eyes began to prickle and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't help getting hot and sweaty behind the collar. His face burned with the humiliation of being made to show weakness in front of someone.

_I will always say the tr..._

Harry couldn't hold back a quiet groan, clenching and unclenching his mutilated hand to ease the pain.

_...uth and respect the rules. _

The boy felt Umbridge's presence behind him, but he refused to turn around to face the hag.

'I want you to reach twenty by the end of this detention if you don't want another one,' she said, looking at the parchment and returning to her seat.

Harry's eyes shined with unshed tears as he looked at her retreating back with incredulity mixed with fury. Twenty? He barely managed to write four! The accursed quill felt like a hot-iron rod cutting mercilessly into his flesh, drawing blood, and burning with the ferocity of dragonfire. But he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. No way he was going to blub, asking to stop. No way, or his name was not Harry Potter.

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

_I will al... ways say th... e truth and respe... ct the rules._

_I... will alw... ays say the tr... uth and respect th... e rules._

_I..._

But he didn't even get to ten before he groaned with pain, trying to muffle out the sound with his sleeve. It was too much. He put his aching hand in between his knees to make the pressure ease the pain, but even that didn't work for long. He'd written only two more lines.

_... will always say the tr... uth and respect th... e rules._

_I will al... ways say the truth an... d respect the rules._

Harry wiped his eyes with the back of his healthy hand and glared hatefully at Umbridge. He'd just reached half of what he was supposed to write, his hand bled and hurt, and it was already more than an hour since he'd started his detention.

'Mr Potter, if you do not want to earn yourself more lines, I recommend that you return to your work and stop dawdling.' The woman's voice brought him back to the task at hand.

Harry groaned, hating himself for this show of weakness, sniffed pitifully once again and wrote,

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

And more,

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

And again,

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

And then he stopped. He was on the verge of biting the wound on the back of his hand if it was to help to get rid of the pain. Moaning silently and hugging his hand closely, Harry rubbed his face, as if to get rid of some illusory itch and continued.

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

He reached sixteen, clenching his teeth and gasping after each word cut itself in his flesh. It was insane, he thought. Why was the toad even allowed to torture him like that? Was he the only one who would not stand up to her? He wondered what would Ron do if she ordered him to write with this quill. Would he say no? It surely wasn't legal to do such things and...

'Mr Potter!' Umbridge's voice boomed around the office. 'You've just earned yourself one line more! You are here in detention, not to daydream!'

The boy looked at her rebelliously. With an intense gaze, she challenged him to say something, but he kept his mouth shut and returned to his task. Umbridge seemed contented.

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

_I will always say the truth and respect the rules._

Harry wrote his lines as quickly as he could, considering the almost unbearable pain he was in. He desperately wanted to finish and go back to his common room. He needed to go to bed, far away from Umbridge, forget the pain and ease himself in the beautiful land of dreams.

Finally, he threw the quill away, stood up and walked up to the toad-like professor to show her his work. Umbridge smiled shrewdly, inspecting his throbbing hand.

'I do hope that one time will be enough for you, Mr Potter, and I won't have to assign any more of these detentions,' she said, letting go of the boy's hand, her voice very serious. Harry nodded in agreement. He had no qualms about being complacent if it meant that he'd get to go to bed quicker.

'Excellent. Well, off to bed with you, then. It's way past the time you should be in bed, Mr Potter.'

Harry was really tempted to tell her that after third year there was no bedtime, but decided against it. What if Umbridge thought he was being disrespectful and said he was to stay and write more lines? Harry explained to himself he was not a coward. He was just ensuring that the more important thing was given the priority.

'Goodnight, Mr Potter.'

'Goodnight, professor.' _Hope you have dreadful nightmares_, he thought vindictively.

Harry ran all the way up to the Gryffindor tower, however, before entering his common room, he went to one of the boys' lavatories on the seventh floor. He needed to see if there was any sign of crying visible on his face. He didn't dare to come back with his eyes red and puffy. No, it was enough to squeak like a girl in the bathroom in the morning. He didn't need to be told that he blubbed like a baby, too.

Seeing his face in the mirror, he was relieved that he saw his regular appearance. He really didn't feel like wondering what the hell was happening that made him look like Ralph bloody Selwyn, but he knew he would have to give it a thought later on. It was one thing to have pleasant dreams about being a child, and something else entirely seeing himself change into the menace in broad daylight.

Deciding that he didn't look as if he cried at all, Harry sped along to the Gryffindor tower. He needed to get there before someone caught him. After all it was already an hour past curfew and he was definitely not supposed be outside. And blasted Umbridge didn't give him a pass.

Finally arriving at the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry said the password ('Canary Creams') and entered the common room. It wasn't overly crowded at this time, as all first, second and third years were already required to be in bed and the older pupils enjoyed the exclusiveness of their dormitories. The boy spotted Hermione at the table by the fireplace.

'Hello,' he said tiredly, plonking himself down onto the cushioned armchair. 'Is Ron back already?'

Hermione glared at him over the book she was reading, apparently still annoyed with them getting detentions on the first day of school. Her eyes softened a bit when she looked at Harry's face.

'Yes, he came back just after curfew, almost an hour ago,' the girl replied, still staring at her friend intently. 'You were crying...'

Harry felt heat rising up to his neck and face. That was so embarrassing.

'No,' he denied, a tad too quickly for his own good.

'Please, Harry, I'm not Ronald,' Hermione snorted. 'What happened? Was it Umbridge?'

Harry sighed. He knew that the girl was clever, and she would probably find a solution to his aching hand, but he just didn't want her to know about it.

'I don't want to talk about it,' he said firmly. 'I'm going to bed.'

_Ralph was crying. And it wasn__'__t the fake cry he usually engaged in to gain his mother__'__s attention. No. This time, he was really, earnestly in pain and all he wanted was for his mum to come and take the pain away. He had never felt so happy as when he__'__d seen her emerging from the potions storage room, where she held the most potent healing draughts. She walked up to the boy and hugged him tightly, giving him a vial of some orange liquid. _

'_Bottoms up, Ralphie, it will ease the pain,__'__ she said, smiling brightly. He loved her smile. Unlike most people he knew, her teeth were perfectly straight and her full red lips stretched in a loving and pleasant way. At least when she smiled at him. _

'_Thanks, mummy,__'__ he muttered, blinking away the tears. _

_Lady Selwyn then took out a small jar of ointment and proceeded to apply it to her son__'__s wounded calf. She sighed, shaking her head. She would never understand how Ralph, one of the most broom-proficient ten-year-olds she had ever seen, managed to fly into a tree. The boy emerged from the accident with a long wound across his calf, stabbed by a tree branch. Now he was sitting in her room, crying, and for the first time since Merlin only knew when, doing it without manipulation and pretending. _

_When she finished applying the salve, she helped the boy to sit down in his favourite armchair in front of the fireplace and asked,_

'_How did that happen, Ralph?__'_

_The boy immediately blushed._

'_Well, you see... I was playing with Jamie Lovell, you know him, he__'__s the nice boy from the farm just outside the estate, and we sorta... err... well, we decided to join our broomsticks and surf them...__'__ The boy squirmed under his mother__'__s stern expression. __'__But I have a better broom, and it wanted to go faster than Jamie__'__s could, and I didn__'__t manage to keep them balanced properly and we, well, I kind of hit the tree,__'__ he finished lamely. __'__I__'__m sorry, mummy! I know it was stupid! I didn__'__t mean to do it, it just happened.__'_

_Lady Selwyn sighed deeply. __'__You__'__ll be the death of me, child,__'__ she said and hugged the boy once again. __'__You should be grateful noting bad happened.__'_

'_Nothing bad?__'__ the boy cried incredulously. __'__And my shredded leg is supposed to be good?__'_

'_You know what I mean. It__'__s good it was your leg, not your head. But I want you to be careful while flying, because otherwise I will insist that you wear your protection gear each time you mount your broom.__'_

_Ralph looked at her with dread in his eyes. There was nothing more embarrassing than wearing protection gear when flying. His mother would not make him the laughing stock of his friends. He was sure about that. But, nevertheless, he nodded in consent. _


	7. Chapter 7

Hello, hello! Here's chapter 6 for your, hopefully, enjoyment. I'm slowly getting to where I want to take this story, but you may have to be a little more patient. I assure you, the good bits will start soon.

In the meantime, thank you for all your reviews, I really love reading them (who doesn't?). Sorry for not replying to all of them, but I'm rather short on time (yeah right... admit it girl... you're simpy indulging in the hedonistic student night life and then sleeping the days away;)) Ever tried doing a Latin translation into two different languages while still inebriated? Honestly, don't try it... Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Sorry for any errors, I do hope there aren't too many.

Cheerio;)

* * *

Chapter 7 - Of Blood Quills And Tea Parties

Harry woke up the next morning to the beams of sunlight pouring through the open curtains of his bed. He was lying on his stomach, only half-covered with the blanket, one hand hanging loosely from the bed, the other tucked firmly under his pillow. The boy turned around onto his back and stretched, yawning widely. He smiled for no reason at all, and crawled out of bed, going to search for the essential parts of his uniform scattered around the room.

Harry was just about to pick up one of his black socks when his eyes fell on his hand. The hand, which by all rights should now be sporting a scabby sentence: _I will always say the truth and respect the rules. _The problem was, it was not there. The boy stared at the smooth skin. How was it possible? Was the quill enchanted especially to give excruciating pain during the punishment and the effects were to disappear later? It actually made sense, but then why didn't Umbridge tell him so? Well, no. That was not to be expected. He was willing to bet all his fortune that Umbridge would rather the wound didn't disappear at all.

Frustrated with adding another mysterious thing to his list of abnormalities, Harry collected the rest of his uniform and proceeded to the bathroom. Just five minutes later, still in the shower, the boy heard the rest of his friends wake up. Grumblings about 'an ungodly hour' and 'blasted lessons in the morning' reached his ears. He stifled a laugh. However amusing it was, his sentiments were exactly the same.

The day passed quickly and without incidents. Harry was relieved when in the evening he cheerfully noted that the only times he'd seen Umbridge were during meals. Ron and Hermione looked at him oddly, when the boy took out Exploding Snap cards the moment they retired to their common room after the afternoon lessons were over.

'What are you so bloody cheerful about, mate?' Ron asked, staring at Harry as if he had grown a second pair of eyes. 'Some of us weren't let off lightly yesterday, you know. I, for one, still have detentions with Filch.'

'Let off lightly?' the boy blurted out before he had a chance to hold his tongue. 'You don't know what you're talking about, Ron.'

He felt angry. Furious, even. He had no desire to tell his friends what the toad had him do, but it still hurt to hear Ron say such a thing.

'Yeah?' The Weasley boy's ears and cheeks turned red, signifying his annoyance. 'I don't see you going off to your detention! I got three days of detention with Filch. And you? Bloody Boy-Who-Lived, Umbridge probably didn't dare to give you more than a couple of hours. What did you do there, anyway? Write lines?'

Now Harry felt like laughing.

'Right,' he said, snorting. 'I was writing lines. I've written twenty fucking lines in three hours! There. Does that satisfy your stupid curiosity?'

Ron's expression changed from angry to incredulous to almost hateful in less than a second.

'Perfectly,' he hissed. 'Now, excuse me, Mr Populaire, but I have to get to my detention.'

As he walked off, Harry leaned back in his armchair, making a sound that could be classified somewhere between a sigh and a snort.

'Harry?' Hermione tried to gain his attention. 'Is it true? Have you really written only twenty lines in your detention?'

The boy looked at her, clearly not happy with her question.

'Well, it is,' he admitted, but Hermione knew there was more to it than that. After all, why would he have been crying if it was only those twenty lines? She knew her best friend well. He never cried. He was strong and didn't like to show weakness. But even though the signs of him crying had been barely visible, Hermione knew he did. Now she wanted to know why.

'But?' she prodded, looking pointedly at Harry.

The boy sighed. What was the point of telling her the truth? He didn't even have the proof of what happened anymore.

'Hermione, I'd really rather not...'

'No, stop right there!' The girl cut him mid-sentence. 'You were absolutely miserable yesterday, then all of the sudden you are so happy today. You came back with your eyes red to the tower, for goodness sake! What's wrong with you, Harry?'

'I was trying to forget about that,' he told her darkly. 'Besides, there's no point in telling you. It's all gone now, anyway.'

'Harry, I can clearly see that there's something going on. Please, tell me. Otherwise, I will never know how to help you.'

He almost winced at Hermione's pleading voice. He loved her as a sister he had never had and making her sad was the last thing he ever wanted. But really...

'Ehh... All right,' he said finally. 'But don't you dare repeat it to anyone, or I'll skin you alive and roast for Sunday lunch!'

Hermione laughed, but realised that her friend really counted on her discretion.

'Okay, no problem. Just don't serve me with sprouts. I hate them.'

Harry glared at her for a moment, but then smiled weakly and spilled everything that happened during yesterday's detention.

'She gave me that weird quill, it was beautiful, all black with incrusted silver nib. But when I used it, and she said I wouldn't need any ink to write with it, everything I've written was cut on the back of my hand as well. It was... I don't know, really… but it hurt much more than a normal cut. She had me write _I will always say the truth and respect the rules _twenty times. And then one more time, because she said I was dawdling.'

Hermione's eyes were wide with shock. She caught Harry's hands and looked at the backs of both of them. When she didn't see anything, she looked at the boy questioningly.

'It's not there,' he said. 'I don't know how. I just woke up today and my hand was normal. I don't know. Maybe it was supposed to be like that?'

Hermione frowned. She didn't know anything about such quills, but what Harry said intrigued her.

'We still have at least three hours before curfew. Do you want to go to the library to check it?'

'But we don't even know what's the proper name of this quill. How are we supposed to find it?'

Hermione grinned.

'I think I might have a clue.'

And so she did.

'A Blood Quill?' Harry exclaimed, as he read the caption underneath the picture of the Quill from a heavy tome Hermione has put in front of him in the library.

'Shush!' She shot him a warning look. 'You don't want Madam Pince to throw us out, now, do you?'

Harry shook his head slightly and returned to the book.

_Blood Quills were used as punishment in most wizarding schools of the British Empire until 1960s, when they slowly began to fall out of favour..._

_...known to cause considerable pain to a perpetrator, the Quills were an efficient deterrent from crime. Modern punishments lack the efficacy of their predecessors..._

_...the effects of the Quill disappear during the next twelve hours..._

_...traditional punishment consisted of twenty five lines..._

Harry's face contorted with disgust. Traditional punishment? It was barbaric. Torturing of kids at school. _Twenty five lines_... He could imagine that. He had written twenty one and his hand felt like falling off.

'Looks like you've been let off lightly, indeed,' Hermione snorted at the book. 'Harry, you've got to report this. It's unacceptable. She cannot torture you like that.'

But the boy only shook his head.

'It's not like it's illegal. Besides, I have nothing to prove what she actually did.'

'Not illegal? Harry, the book says...'

But he cut the girl off, before she had the time to say anything further.

'Hermione, the book says that it_ fell out of favour._ It doesn't say that it was made illegal.' Harry looked back to the page. '_Considerable pain, _my arse...' he muttered. 'It was like cutting off bits of your own flesh.'

'Oh...' Hermione cried silently and threw herself onto Harry. 'You were so brave not to say anything!' She hugged him tightly. Slightly embarrassed, the boy patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

'We should be heading back,' Hermione said, her voice suspiciously teary. Harry nodded. It was a long day, and there was a weekend ahead of them.

Ron refused to talk to Harry for the whole week, and Harry refused to tell Ron the real extent of his punishment. The days were long and boring, and even harder to bear without friends to help go through them. Harry lay on his bed in the fifth year boys' dormitory, Ron was in the common room, playing Gobstones with Dean Thomas, and Hermione, who refused siding with any one of them, was in the library, studying.

Without anything better to do, Harry took out the copy of **Magical Potential** he bought in Diagon Alley and read the chapter on magic used by wizards of different heritage. The book was dull and monotonous, there was no denying that, but the subject was fascinating. Understanding the connection magic had with the human beings, how it could be used and amplified...

_Knock. Knock. Knock..._

There was an owl outside, forcefully tapping one of its claws on the window pane. Harry stood up and let the bird in, noticing a piece of parchment attached to its leg.

The owl, brown, with gorgeous silver eyes, sat on the boy's bed and waited patiently to be relieved of the letter. Slowly, he approached the bird, untied the parchment and unrolled it.

_Dear Harry,_

_I've been hearing news that you've been fighting with your friends for some time. What do you say to a cuppa at my place today at five? Snuffles can't wait to see you too._

_Cheers,_

_Hagrid_

Harry stared at the letter. Sirius was coming? He looked at the clock in the wall. It was quarter to five. Quickly, he stuffed the book he was reading into his trunk, threw a jumper over his head and left for Hagrid's. He'd have probably ran all the way to the hut, was it not for Umbridge who stopped him mid-way.

'Mr Potter, five points from Gryffindor,' she admonished. 'We do not run in the corridors.'

'Sorry, professor,' he replied in a hurry, and left her behind as fast as possible. He walked quickly all the way to the Entrance Hall and the moment he was in the grounds, he broke into a run once again. He arrived at the hut's door at exactly five o'clock.

'Harry! Wonderful to see yeh, lad,' said Hagrid jovially. 'Yeh did get my message, right?'

Harry nodded his head and took a seat at the table, where Hagrid had already placed three copper cups, or rather small buckets.

'Snuffles should be here soon. In the mean time, why don't yeh tell me what's wrong with Ron and Hermione, heh?' Hagrid asked worriedly.

'It's nothing really. Hermione's all right, it's Ron that I'm not talking to. It all started with the detention we got from Umbridge for sending messages in class. He got three days and I only got one evening.' Harry's reply was lacking important bits, and Hagrid knew it. He didn't want to pry in the children's business, but even he could tell that something wasn't right. He shook his head. Sirius would know how to talk to the boy.

'So how are yer other classes?' Hagrid tried to change the subject. He noticed Harry breathing a sigh of relief.

'Fine, I suppose. Potions's as usual, Transfiguration's tough, History's boring. Nothing new really. Have you got a nice animal for us for our next class?'

'Sure. We'll be doing something fun. But I won't tell yeh. It's a surprise.'

There was a knock on the back door.

'Ha! It's Snuffles, for sure,' said Hagrid, swinging around to let the visitor inside. A moment later a large black dog ran in. He immediately pounced on Harry and started licking his face and tickling him on the sides.

'Stop! Sirius, stop!' the boy cried out amid laughter. The dog backed away and changed into his godfather.

'Hello, kid,' he exclaimed, ruffling Harry's hair. 'I had no idea you were that ticklish. Had I known, you'd have no life at all back in summer.' He grinned widely.

'Right,' the boy muttered, pretending to be offended. 'I'll remember that in the future.'

'Let's have some tea and biscuits,' said Hagrid, pouring the brown liquid into the cups and laying out shortbread biscuits from a big steel jar onto a plate. He also placed a small jug of milk and a bowl of sugar on the table.

'So, how's school so far?' Sirius asked, taking a big gulp of tea and making a face at the taste of it. It was far too strong and bitter. Taking a hint from Harry, he stirred in five spoonfuls of sugar and a healthy amount of milk. Yes, much better. Well, edible.

'I got a detention with Umbridge and Ron's not talking to me at all,' he blurted out everything that bothered him.

'Why is that?' Sirius didn't understand how the two connected.

'Well, we were sending letters in class and she caught us and she gave us detentions. But Ron got three nights of Filch and I got one with her. And later he said that it was all because of my celebrity status, but honestly, I'd gladly exchange detention with that toad for whatever he was doing.'

Sirius sighed. Oh yes, he still remembered his school days. And he clearly recalled a similar situation with James and Remus, when Remus just got one night of detention because he was the quiet one and James got the whole week because he was the one always in trouble. The problem was that the whole idea was Remus', and James was absolutely furious. If Sirius remembered correctly, the two boys didn't speak with each other for almost a month after that.

When he relied the story to his godson, the boy only shook his head.

'You don't understand, Sirius,' he said, sounding a bit frustrated. 'It's not about fairness or anything. I would even admit to Ron that I was let off lightly if it really was the case, but it wasn't. The bloody toad had me writing with some awful Blood Quill!'

'What?' Sirius and Hagrid bellowed in unison.

'But that's... that's... Harry, you have to report this. It's mediaeval!' The boy noticed that his godfather was furious.

'It's legal. I've checked it in the library,' he explained patiently. 'It's just... I don't want people to know that I can't take on a little bit of pain.'

'Do you even hear yourself?' Sirius demanded. '_A little bit of pain_? I know how Blood Quills work, believe me. Don't give me that bullshit about it being a little bit of pain. They are charmed to give more pain than the same act would normally cause. Come on, we're going to Dumbledore!'

'No!' Harry backed away from his godfather, preventing the man from grabbing his arm. 'I don't want anyone to know. And I will not report this. I don't want to. And you will promise me that you won't tell anyone either!'

'I will certainly do no such thing.'

'If you tell anyone I will never speak to you again!' And he left. The last Sirius and Hagrid saw of the boy was his quickly retreating back, as he ran in the direction of the castle.

'That went bad,' said Sirius, falling back in his chair.

'Well, yeh have to do something. Tell Dumbledore on the next meeting. Blood Quill... Bloody hell.'

'Literally.'


	8. Chapter 8

Hi folks! I apologise profusedly for the delay. I WILL post a chapter every other day, don't worry. I was delayed because, believe it or not, I forgot to take my laptop with me when we went to visit my Grandma for Xmas... Ridiculous, I know.

Anyway, thanks to all my reviewers and those who liked my story. You're all great:)

Cheers!

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Chapter 8 - Of Blood And Family

Sitting on the windowsill of a large arch on top of one of the courtyards, Harry cursed himself for telling Sirius about Umbridge and her punishment. As if he hadn't learnt a long time ago not to go tattling! And now, his godfather would be off to speak with Dumbledore on his behalf, probably endangering himself too. The boy sighed, frustrated. Everything seemed so stupid. Not a month ago he was sitting with Sirius in the cosy drawing room at Grimmauld Place, discussing the magical world. Now, he was sitting on a cold, stone windowsill, freezing his bum off, and thinking whether his godfather would get caught in a doomed-to-failure attempt to stand up for him. Harry tried to relieve his misery, at least for a bit, by closing his eyes and relaxing, but it was almost impossible in his current position. With a groan, he hit the wall with his knuckles, but all he managed was to scrape his skin.

Hissing with pain, Harry jumped off the windowsill and returned to the common room, finally realising how ridiculous his behaviour was. So what if Sirius tells Dumbledore? What can Umbridge do? Why would she want to do anything anyway? After all, however one looked at it, she was the one in authority and he was the one breaking the rules. And she didn't do anything illegal by making him write with that quill. Maybe it was a bit old-fashioned, but perfectly within the boundaries of law.

The boy snorted. Where was he getting all these thoughts from?

The next morning at breakfast Harry received an owl. It wasn't an owl from Sirius or the Weasleys. Honestly, the boy had no idea where the bird had come from, other than it looked pretty official and important.

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry untied the letter and put it aside to read after he had finished his porridge.

'Who's that from?' Hermione asked, observing as the owl took a slice of melon from the dish at the table and flew away.

'No idea,' the boy replied, swallowing his food. 'I'm going to the tower to get my books. You coming?'

Taking the clue, Hermione quickly finished her toast and stood up. Ron looked at them disdainfully, but as they still didn't talk, he only snorted and resumed devouring his scrambled eggs.

'So? Is it something important?' The moment they left the Great Hall, the girl took to grilling Harry with questions.

'I don't know.' He shook his head. 'The owl seemed rather important. Maybe Ministry?' he mused, breaking the seal of a strange shield with a lion, a unicorn and a dragon holding a wreath of holly. No, definitely not the Ministry.

'It's from Dumbledore!' exclaimed Harry, surprised that the headmaster would use something other than a school bird. 'Is that his personal seal?' he wondered, staring at the light red wax.

'What is he saying?' Hermione asked impatiently.

'He wants me to come to his office today after classes. Apparently, he has something important to discuss with me,' the boy replied, staring at the parchment. 'Interesting. Any idea what he might want?'

Hermione only shook her head.

Umbridge sat in her chair behind the desk, observing the pupils. With satisfaction, she noted that they all worked intensely, scribbling down notes from the textbook. She smiled widely and took an elegant sip of tea from her porcelain cup.

She was contented that, since his punishment, Potter didn't act up in her class. Right now, the boy was slouching on his desk, lazily turning the pages, clearly bored with the material. Umbridge's smile grew even broader. She had always thought that children needed to learn patience and humility. Potter was surely slowly learning both, first in his detention, and now doing the dull task. He probably hadn't realised yet how essential doing boring and bland things was in life, but she was here to show him and the rest of the adventurous and naive schoolchildren that life wasn't all about duelling, excitement and playing Quidditch. No, it was about patience, sensibility, and, most importantly, the sense of what one can give to the world. Umbridge felt that she could teach these children discipline, instil a deep sense of duty to the magical community in them and make them aware that day-to-day life was more bitter than sweet.

'The lesson's over,' she chirped in her usual girly voice. 'Make sure to study, as we will have a little test next week.'

'Test! Test? What is she going to test us on?' exclaimed Ron as they cleared out from the classroom as quickly as possible. He and Harry weren't on the speaking terms yet, but as neither could live without Hermione, they had taken to walking on either side of the girl, never saying a word to one another. Hermione, obviously, wasted no time in telling them how ridiculous they had been, but they decided to ignore it.

'Theory, Ronald, theory,' came an annoyed reply. The girl clearly wasn't in the mood for stupidity. 'Ever heard about it? Comes from that book you're holding.'

'Merlin, Hermione, don't be so touchy.' Ron held his hands up defensively. 'It's okay, really. I get you.'

'No, you don't! And you, Harry, don't get it either! Why don't the two of you just drop this daft charade and talk to each other?'

Now, Harry pretended to look offended.

'Hermione, I don't think it's the best place...' he started, but was immediately cut off.

'Then where's the good place, Harry? I'm really tired of this. There is absolutely no reason for you to act like prats and you damn well know it!'

'All right,' Ron said finally, after a bit of consideration. 'You're telling me to talk to him. I will. If he only stops flaunting that famous scar of his to gain him favours with the teachers!'

'See, Hermione?' Harry interrupted Ron's tirade. 'He can't look past his stubborn, freckled nose. He didn't even ask me what happened at Umbridge's and he's jumping to conclusions. He's just jealous,' he finished venomously.

The last remark made Ron's ears redden.

'I'm not! It's just not right that you're receiving special treatment! I had to clean the entire trophy room! And you what? You've written twenty lines? That's pathetic!'

'Yeah, I bet you'd love to write twenty lines with a Blood Quill, wouldn't you?' Harry spat nastily. 'Might even leave you a scar. Oops, sorry, they disappear after twelve hours. But you know what? They hurt like hell. You'd have nice memories to pass on to your grandchildren!'

Ron blinked in shock.

'A Blood Quill?' he asked incredulously. 'Are you serious? Merlin's knickers! The toad's insane!'

'Glad you agree.' Came Harry's icy response.

'Oh, you two!' cried Hermione, exasperated. 'Now, shake hands or hug, or do whatever you please, just don't fight over nothing anymore!'

The boys looked at Hermione and burst out laughing. A moment later she joined them too, and soon they were all heading outdoors to lie on the green grass and catch the last beams of sunlight.

Harry stepped into Dumbledore's office right after his last lesson of the day ended. He didn't go to the tower to leave his books, but came straight from potions, still feeling some sticky slime lingering under his fingernails. Even wiping his hands on his uniform trousers didn't help. Sighing, the boy greeted his headmaster who smiled merrily and kindly offered him a sherbet lemon. If he was disappointed with Harry's refusal, he'd never shown it, but asked the boy to take a seat instead.

'Well, my child, how are your classes?' he asked, pouring Harry some tea. 'Milk? Sugar?' he queried further, receiving a nod in response.

'They're all right, sir,' the boy replied politely, stirring the contents of his cup and wondering why was he in the headmaster's office. Surely not to discuss his school routine?

'Oh, that's jolly good, Harry, jolly good,' Dumbledore said, a bit absent-mindedly. Harry noticed that the twinkles in the old man's eyes were somewhat dimmed. Had something happened? It wasn't the headmaster's usual attitude.

'Sir, what's going on? Why am I here?' the boy asked warily. Dumbledore sighed heavily, clearly tired with something that occurred.

'You see, Harry, we have, as expected, arrived at the point where we have very little opportunity for any manoeuvres. With the Ministry refusing to take decisive action against Lord Voldemort, our hands are tied and we are unable to do what must be done. The people should be warned, they should be aware of the impending danger. No one is safe as long as Tom Riddle is somewhere out there, roaming free and unnoticed, given a leeway to do as he pleases.'

The boy nodded, signifying that he understood. Sighing, Dumbledore continued, though Harry could see that the old man was very tired and seemed fragile, both emotionally and physically.

'I have recently received intelligence that as of a couple of weeks ago, Voldemort became aware of the ramifications of his use of your blood to resurrect himself. Harry, you need to understand, it's very important not to get hysterical, though the situation may seem really dire. Just do not let what I'll tell you bother you too much, all right?' The boy nodded again, trying to make out what was Dumbledore getting at.

'Because he used your blood, it now flows in his veins, giving him, most probably, some of your physical traits, but most importantly, making him your blood kin. He has every right to request that you be handed over to him as, legally speaking, he is your closest magical relative.'

Harry felt his body breeze with dread.

'No,' he whispered. 'N-no... that can't be true! They know that I'm not his relative! He's Voldemort, for goodness' sake! A murderer! Everyone knows him, everyone knows me. It's not going to happen.'

Harry didn't feel anything at the moment, apart from anger that was quickly taking control over his entire being.

'I know that, Harry. The world knows that too. But you cannot contest a blood relation in the wizarding world, and you being a minor...'

'No! Professor, you can't be serious!' the boy bellowed before he had a chance to think properly. 'Are you actually saying that I'm to go live with Voldemort? There's no way! The bastard killed my entire family. He tried to kill me! Four times already! I'd rather jump off the Astronomy Tower than let him take me away!'

Dumbledore rose from his seat and went over to the fuming teen. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. They were filled with fury, betrayal and fear. It really hurt the old wizard to see his favourite pupil in such a state, but there was no remedy. It had to be said, and done.

'Harry,' he tried to calm the boy by speaking softly and quietly. 'No one's going to let Voldemort come in a mile radius of you. I will personally make sure of that. What we need to do now is to find a suitable magical guardian for you from a wizarding family with close ties to the Potters. We need their blood to be as close to yours as possible. If you have a magical relative taking care of you, Voldemort can't touch you.'

Harry nodded, trying desperately not to show how miserable he felt. It would be too big an embarrassment to break into tears in front of Dumbledore.

'But sir, you said yourself that my last living relatives were the Dursleys,' he protested rather quietly, afraid that his voice might tremble were he to speak any louder.

An odd expression crossed the headmaster's face for a moment, but then disappeared, leaving an image of grandfatherly concern.

'It is true,' he said, his voice a bit strained. 'The Dursleys are your only living family on your mother's side. The very side that your protections were drawn upon. You needed to stay with someone of your mother's blood for the protections to work. However, now that it is no longer possible for you to be protected by the sacrifice of your mother, we need to find an alternative.'

Harry nodded, showing that he understood what the headmaster was talking about.

'But what other family could I possibly have? Grandparents?' Here, he noted that his voice sounded so pitifully, he'd better not use it until it regained some of its strength.

'Unfortunately, no,' said Dumbledore, knowing that clearly the time for making confessions had arrived. 'Your grandmother died six years ago. Apparently, dragon pox can be quite deadly if you're sixty four.' The old man tried to fill his voice with regret, but the truth was, he didn't want the boy to be brought up by the Potters. The old hag's death had been a blessing. He didn't like the fact that the family members openly dabbled in Dark magic. If it wasn't for their affluence, all of them would have been charged with treason and killed.

'You see, Harry, there's a problem, as many of your relatives belong to old families that practise Dark Arts. I wouldn't like you to go live with them. The only member of the Potter family I have more or less trusted was Caroline Potter, your grandfather's sister, but she died in nineteen eighty-eight, fatally wounded by a Muggle madman. Her husband, Robert Fellowes, died five years later. People were saying that he'd never fully recovered after the death of his wife.'

'So, you mean to tell me that I have a choice of being taken by Voldemort or going to some dark, distantly related to me wizard?' Harry asked, crestfallen. 'Why can't I just stay with Sirius? He told me that the Potters were closely related to the Blacks?' For a moment, there was a spark of excitement in the boys' eyes at the thought of going to live with his beloved godfather. However, Dumbledore was quick in bringing him firmly back to earth.

'Sirius' branch of family is not nearly as closely related as what we are looking for.' Came a sad reply. 'But I might have another option. It is not really an ideal one, as this person, although never actually accused of using Dark Arts, comes from a very Dark family. I'm talking about your Aunt Elizabeth Selwyn, a grand-daughter of Marlene Potter, who was your great-grandfather's sister. It's the closest connection I could think of that didn't involve the followers of Voldemort. I'm sorry, Harry, I really am, but it's all we can do at the moment.'

But the boy was not listening to the headmaster's apologies. _Selwyn_. Just as in his dreams. And just as in Sirius' house. Was he now supposed to go to live with the descendants of the people from the portraits?

'Is it... dangerous?' he asked, unsure of what his reaction should be.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful for a moment. It shouldn't be, if he only played it right.

'I doubt it, Harry,' he replied. 'The Selwyn family has faced to much persecution to be any real threat nowadays. I dare say that Elizabeth is the last one alive, just as you are the last one to be named Potter.'

'Well, I suppose I don't really have that much of a choice, now, do I?' said the boy, completely resigned. However, as he noted with satisfaction, his voice no longer resembled that of a toddler.

'Indeed, my child,' the headmaster admitted, staring somewhere far beyond, trying to convince himself that what he was doing was only for the greater good of the boy... and of the world.


	9. Chapter 9

Hi! Just to make up for not posting anything for a week, a chapter for you today:) Harry's becoming a man, though you may have to suffer his idiocy for a bit longer still. Don't worry, he'll shape up.

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Chapter 9 - Of Fires And Breakfasts

The days flew by quickly at Hogwarts. Between schools, homewok and spending time with friends, Harry could hardly find a moment to slow down and think.

Umbridge was getting on with her plan to 'improve the quality of Hogwarts' education', introducing Ministry Educational Decrees. The first came just two days after Harry's dreadful conversation with Dumbledore, laying out new behavioural standards expected of every pupil. Muggle clothing was forbidden at all times, they were not to listen to music during official prep sessions or during the evening study hours, the curfew was lowered to eight thirty for all first and second years, to nine thirty for third and fourth years, and to ten thirty for the rest of the pupils. Everyone had also had to remain in their common room from eight pm to six am, unless there was an emergency.

Umbridge also made sure that the food the pupils were getting was healthy and full of essential nutrients, creating a special, Ministry-approved menu, to which the house-elves were to adhere whenever in doubt. Pudding was to be served only on Sundays, and no sweets were to be available to children in the common rooms as snacks.

Three weeks after the first Educational Decree was implemented, Dolores Umbridge complained to the Minister that the reform was not taken seriously. It was enough for Fudge to appoint his representative the Hogwarts' High Inquisitor, allowing her to visit lessons in order to evaluate teachers and their methods, implement disciplinary regulations and oversee the whole functioning of the school.

Professor Umbridge walked the corridors of Hogwarts, observing with immense satisfaction that the pupils were calmer, less prone to mischief and much more presentable than before. She congratulated herself on her accomplishments. It was a good day for both the Ministry and the magical world. It didn't really take much to introduce proper discipline at Hogwarts in order to create an atmosphere of learning and propriety. Her old alma mater, Ladies' Dragon College, an independent magical school in the south of Wales, had had an even stricter code of conduct, and as far as Dolores knew, they still upheld it today. And the result was that the school regularly appeared as one of the top five in the annual league tables created by The New Magi newspaper.

Of course, punishing pupils engaging in inappropriate behaviour and care for their well-being was not Dolores's only concern. She had been quite busy recently, visiting lessons, inspecting classrooms and equipment provisions. She needed to make sure that everything was in order and that the education the young people received was of the top quality. After all, the educational reforms were the government's flagship policy. They were supposed to improve the knowledge and behaviour of the school-leavers and, of course, guarantee that Cornelius Fudge and his political fraction won the next general election.

'Miss Flycombe, ten points from Hufflepuff!' the professor called out, seeing the first-year wearing a silver hairclip. It was unacceptable. Jewellery was against the dress-code. 'Take that ridiculous thing off your hair, girl.'

Umbridge continued her walk through the castle, taking off some more points just behind the corner, where she spotted the Weasley twins playing with explosives. After all, she had clearly stated that there was to be no fireworks in the halls. Games were only allowed in the newly erected playing fields just outside the castle. And to Umbridge's satisfaction, the fact that the fields were created was of great joy to the pupils. Now she contemplated introducing mandatory physical education lessons, seeing as ninety per cent of the pupils had no physical activity whatsoever.

'What a stuck-up, posh tart!' whispered Ron furiously, looking at the retreating back of professor Umbridge after she had confiscated his brothers' fireworks. 'See? Walking around with that smug expression, as if she's done something great.'

Hermione only shook her head. 'Honestly, Ronald, most of her rules aren't bad at all. I remember at my Muggle prep school we had similar rules and...'

'Hermione!' the redhead cried out, indignant. 'It's Umbridge we're talking about! She's here to spy for Fudge and to make our lives miserable, remember?'

The girl rolled her eyes.

'Really, she's done some good things, you can't deny it,' she insisted, making Ron stare at her incredulously. 'Well, she did! The food's never been this good before. And you're finally not eating dinners consisting solely of puddings! And we actually have time set aside for studying, so you can't procrastinate anymore, Ronald Weasley!'

Ron looked at her with disdain.

'Do I even know what that terribly clever word means?' he asked rudely.

'You would have, if you only read more, instead of lazing around,' she cut off, standing up and walking away.

Ron looked helplessly at Harry, who sat under the tree, barely ten feet away.

'What's got into her, you reckon?' The boy seemed genuinely clueless.

'Maybe you should just snog her more?' Harry offered the simplest advice that came to his mind on such a short notice. Ron's ears turned crimson.

'We... I... What are you taking about?' he managed finally, turning his head away, trying not to look his friend in the eye.

Harry laughed. 'Really, Ron, are you together or not?'

Weasley looked at him as if he'd seen him for the first time.

'Merlin's beard! Of course not! Where did you get that idea from?'

'Well, you know, all this lurking around the corners at Grimmauld Place, whispering sweet things to each other. Wasn't that what you were doing?' Harry seemed surprised. He really thought that Ron and Hermione were going out.

Ron burst out laughing.

'I can't believe you, Harry. Snogging our Hermione? I don't think I could ever do that. She's just one of the lads, you know what I mean? We were just doing homework or talking back in Grimmauld Place, as you seemed so preoccupied with Tonks and Sirius.'

Harry felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He'd really put his foot in it now.

That evening the Gryffindor common room was filled with noises. As the younger years had already been sent to bed, it was up to the older pupils to act up. And ever since Umbridge's decree that gave everyone a set bedtime they tried as much as they could to stay in the common room until exactly the last minute, never missing the occasion to infuriate the tiresome professor.

Harry lounged comfortably on the sofa, reading **Magical Potential**, feeling deadly insulted by Ron and Hermione's jokes regarding his lack of proper perception of other people's emotions. The two were sitting just across from him, sending him meaningful glances and smiling cheekily. The boy tried to ignore them as much as possible and concentrate on the book before him. After all, he had just started a particularly interesting chapter on animagus transformations that explained the exact properties a magical core needed to be able to connect with the ambient magic and allow the wizard yielding it to change into an animal. Now the boy understood why Muggleborns, although often powerful and highly intelligent, did not have the ability to transform. The magic held in their magical core was not yet fully integrated with their blood and essence, which rendered them more perceptive to the ambient magic. The effect of trying to connect their own magical core to what was flowing around them would be quite volatile. Apparently, the ambient magic could suck out their energy, which wasn't yet protected by the inner defences, that would originate with time in wizarding lines.

On another end of the spectrum were the Half-bloods born of a pureblood and a Muggleborn witch or wizard. Apparently, the same did not apply to those of a pureblood and a Muggle. The book claimed that they were in the most comfortable situation, as they had their cores both very perceptive to the ambient magic, thanks to their Muggleborn parents, and heavily protected due to the defences created on the pureblooded side of the family. That's why it usually were the Half-bloods that would become the most powerful wizards or witches.

'Harry, come on,' Hermione's voice distracted him from the book. 'We're sorry. We didn't mean that.'

The boy looked up from the heavy tome. In all honesty, he wasn't offended. He just wanted them to think that he was, so he put on a face and sat there, reading a book, pretending to ignore his friends.

'Really?' he asked pointedly, raising his eyebrow inquiringly. 'So what will I get for forgiving you?' Harry tried to sound as if he was evaluating the worth of speaking with them again. Hermione frowned slightly.

'Hmm... Let's think... Our illustrious company? Our invaluable support? Our help?' She tried, her smile growing bigger and bigger with every word. The girl knew she'd already won the round.

'Well, I've got nothing to lose, right?' Harry purposefully schooled his voice to sound as if he was disappointed to be settling for the second best.

'Oh, boys can be so silly! Honestly!' Hermione threw her arms in the air and sat next to her friend on the sofa. 'What are you reading?'

'Oh, it's a very interesting book. I found it in Diagon Alley the other day when we were shopping for our school supplies,' Harry replied, somewhat excitedly. He thought that Hermione should read it, though he wasn't certain if she'd like the sections about Muggleborns and their inability to perform certain magic.

'**Magical Potential**?' the girl read the title, taking the book from Harry's lap and flicking through its pages. 'May I borrow it?' she asked, clearly interested.

'Sure,' he eagerly nodded his head. 'Just let me finish it. I've got only about twenty pages and I'll be done. I'll give it to you tomorrow morning, okay?'

'Thanks, Harry. It seems pretty interesting.'

'It is.'

_He recognised the elegant Selwyn Castle the moment he__ saw it__. Settling peacefully into his dream, Harry observed the quaint emerald-green lawns on the side of the estate. To his surprise, this time he wasn__'__t in Ralph__'__s body. Now, he was a guest. An intruder, looking at someone else__'__s memories that have somehow reached his dreams. _

_Curiously, he stared at a robed figure that entered the estate through the main gate. It was an old man, dressed in gaudy wizarding clothes. He had long white hair and beard and carried a large cardboard box in his hands. The man, whom Harry did not recognise from the distance but who looked suspiciously like Professor Dumbledore, placed the parcel under a rosebush and then took out his wand. He muttered a spell and the box disappeared into nothingness. _

_The stranger turned around to face the castle, a look full of hate and disgust across his face. He raised his wand and made a motion which created the image of a burning red Greek cross in the air, smiling with contempt._

'_Now, do your duty, Emmanuel. Save them, if you can.__'_

_He then Disapparated and the box concealed under the bush burst into flames. _

_The fire spread unbelievably quickly, in no time engulfing the emerald green grass, then the stones of the castle. _

_Harry watched with fear as the flame devoured everything on its way. He heard screams. They came from inside the castle._

'_No!__'__ he cried, desperately trying to get closer. He needed his wand, he needed to help whoever was in there. _

_Suddenly, there was a figure running out of the castle, flaming like a torch. The boy watched with horror as the figure ran across the burning playing fields, screaming in pain, trying to get to the gates. Whoever it was, didn__'__t manage and fell to the ground, rolling around, trying to get rid of the flames slowly eating away his flesh. But the fire didn__'__t stop. If anything, it only grew more fierce and hot. _

_Harry started screaming along with the figure rolling on the ground. The wind of his dream whisked him closer to the victim. With terror clearly visible on his face, the boy saw the flames licking his arms, but he didn__'__t feel anything. All he could do was stare at the contorted with pain face of the screaming Ralph Selwyn, burning alive on the ground._

Harry woke up suddenly, covered in sweat, his body hot and achy. Feeling like he was going to be sick, the boy ran to the bathroom and vomited violently into the loo.

A moment later, he sat on the cold, tiled floor, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel pyjamas and leaning his back onto the wall. His whole body was shaking, he felt hot and sick in his stomach.

In and out. In and out. In and out. Breathe. The boy tried to calm his trembling hands, but the image of Ralph, a boy whom he came to associate with beautiful memories of a wonderful, magical childhood, engulfed in red flames, would not allow him to relax. He sensed the smell of burning flesh, even though he was certain that now it was only a figment of his imagination.

Harry shuddered. How did that happen? _Did _it actually happen? Why on earth would anyone want to kill a young boy? Ralph didn't do anything to anyone, he was an innocent child. What about the rest of the family? Harry clearly heard many screams. Did they die as well?

_'The Selwyn family has faced to much persecution to be much of a threat nowadays. I dare say that Elizabeth is the last one alive.__'_

Harry remembered Dumbledore's words. But... Was that his family? Was he somehow related to Ralph? Was it Dumbledore who caused the death of his family? Was the old wizard whom he had always regarded as a mentor, as a grandfather even, a cause of such suffering? The stranger in the dream and the old wizard certainly looked quite alike, but Harry was too far to be sure. The headmaster said that his family was mostly Dark. Were the Selwyns Dark too?

_'But remember, dabbling in Dark magic is highly illegal. There is nothing that could save you if you were to be caught.'_

The sentence, uttered by Dumbledore in another one of his dreams, reminded him that the family was, indeed, Dark. And then, he had a dim recollection of the professor saying that Elizabeth Selwyn came from a very Dark family.

Maybe... maybe they had done something terrible? Maybe they were Death Eaters? But then... No. Ralph was just a little kid. He couldn't have committed any atrocities, regardless of his family's affiliation. But maybe his death was unavoidable? Maybe it was a work done for the greater good, and seeing as the boy was the only obstacle to eliminating the entire family of evil wizards and witches, someone decided to sacrifice one child to save many?

No, Harry thought rebelliously. Whatever the reason, it still didn't excuse such an act. But...

Oh, for goodness sake! Pull yourself together, Harry! he admonished himself mentally.

The boy stood up and walked over to the sink. He looked at his expression in the mirror. For some reason, he wished to see Ralph's face there once again. It would make it easier to pretend that what he'd seen was only a dream, not a real event. Instead, he saw a deathly-pale face, with dark-circled emerald green eyesand the untidy mop of black hair, so familiar and so strange at the same time._  
_

Harry buried his face in his hands. He didn't understand what was going on with him. What were the dreams about? Why was he supposed to see them? What was he to learn from them?

The boy growled in frustration, hitting the edge of the washbasin with a clenched fist. He didn't mind the stinging that erupted in his knuckles. He needed something to take his thoughts off the dreadful memories of the night.

Harry turned on the cold water tap and splashed his face. He still felt a bit hot and flushed from the night's events and needed something to soothe his nerves.

'Harry?' The boy jumped hearing Ron's voice coming from the door. He turned around to face his freckled friend. 'Are you all right, mate?'

Harry sensed genuine worry in Ron's voice.

'Yeah,' he replied flatly, slowly sliding to the floor, leaning his back on the wall. 'I just had a really bad night. Go back to bed, Ron. I'll go to the common room and read some.'

'Are you sure? You don't look well to me. Do you want to go see Madam Pomfrey?' Weasley asked, crouching beside Harry and looking him straight in the face. 'It's still early, something like four, but I believe it counts as an emergency.'

But the boy only shook his head. No, he didn't need to go to the Hospital Wing. What would he tell the nurse anyway? _I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but I've had a bad dream and don't feel well now... _That sounded pathetic. Oh yes, he could just imagine the smirks of his classmates if he'd done that.

'No, Ron, I really am fine. I only need... I'll go to the common room.' And with that resolution, Harry stood up from the floor, took a dressing gown from his trunk to cover his pyjamas, grabbed the **Magical Potential **from his desk and left for the common room, thanking Ron for his concern on his way out. Weasley only shrugged his shoulders and went back to bed.

Downstairs, Harry plonked himself down on the cushioned sofa in front of the fireplace and started reading. He still had about ten pages to go, and he promised Hermione he'd lend her the book in the morning.

As the minutes flew by, the boy slowly turned the pages of the book, marvelling at the ingenious solutions to improve one's magical potential. There were exercises in wandless magic, meditation tips, dietary advice, and many more. He was just finishing the last passage on the benefits of eating Brussels sprouts, when he noticed Hermione coming down the staircase that led to the girls' dorms.

'Hello, Hermione!' he called out to gain her attention. 'Did you know that your favourite sprouts helped with learning transfigurative magic? Especially that concerning human transfiguration?'

The girl smiled at him brightly.

'Hello, Harry,' she said cheerfully. 'Why are you up so early? And where did you get that information from?'

'From **Magical Potential, **the book you wanted to read, remember?' the boy explained, holding the tome up for his friend to see. 'I couldn't sleep. I just thought I'll come here and finish it, so you could have it later,' he said, not getting into the exact details.

'That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you. Have you finished yet? Maybe go and get dressed and we'll go to breakfast?'

Harry nodded in approval and left for the boys' dormitory, leaving the book in Hermione's hands.

The Great Hall was pretty much empty at this time of the day. There was one Slytherin, a seventh-year girl whom Harry did not recognise, and one Ravenclaw girl, also from seventh year. They were sitting together at the Slytherin table, eating some odd food that the boy had never seen at Hogwarts before and talking quietly.

He and Hermione sat at the empty Gryffindor table and waited.

'Er, Hermione? How are we going to get breakfast at this hour?' he asked, unsure whether they should maybe go to the kitchens.

'Just wait patiently, Harry. You'll see,' she said smiling. 'There should be an elf coming in no time.'

As she finished speaking, the boy heard a _pop _and a small creature in a white pillowcase appeared out of nowhere.

'Hello, Sir, hello Miss,' the house elf peeped in a tiny voice. 'How can I be of service to yous?'

'Hello, I would like some toast, marmalade and a glass of orange juice, please. You may also bring me some grapes, if it's all right with you,' requested Hermione, almost sickeningly kindly. The elf looked somewhat unhappy to be making such a simple dish.

'Harry?' the girl prompted.

He was staring at the elaborate food the two other occupants of the Great Hall were having and decided to indulge himself.

'I would like a slice of Victoria sponge with freshly whipped cream, blueberries and strawberries, two poached eggs, some toast, brown sauce, a pork sausage roasted over open fire, bacon and... err... orange juice?' the boy recited thoughtfully. Would he really get all he wanted? Even the cake?

The house-elf's ears shot up in a moment. The creature smiled broadly.

'Right away, young Sir!' it exclaimed and disappeared.

Hermione glared at him disapprovingly.

'You shouldn't make him work this hard, Harry!' she snapped, appalled. 'The poor thing has to prepare breakfast for the entire castle, not just for you! It's not right to make it...'

'Hermione!' the boy stopped her tirade. 'The house-elves don't feel happy if you make them feel they are unable to cope with simple tasks, such as preparing breakfast. Their magic needs chores to be continuously sustained. Read **Magical Potential. **It's all thoroughly explained there.'

Harry missed completely as the Slytherin girl's eyes went up at the mention of the book for a simple fact that the food appeared in front of him at the same time. He dug in, ignoring Hermione's contemptuous glare.

'If this book vindicates the enslavement of magical creatures, then I don't want to read it,' she said, and spread some marmalade on her toast. 'It's cold,' she muttered upon taking the first bite.

Harry grinned. 'You shouldn't have ordered such a simple meal, Hermione. The elves like to be challenged.'

'And you shouldn't be eating sweets. It's not Sunday,' she shot back, angry about her bad food.

'Want some?' the boy offered her a plate of sausages. The elves had outdone themselves again and his one-person meal was more like a picnic for four.

It was a long day, Harry decided, leaving the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom after the most boring lesson he'd had in a long time. Sometimes he really felt like telling Umbridge to stuck this book of hers where was its place. On the other hand, he still remembered his detention, and as far as he didn't want to admit it, even before himself, it was a very efficient deterrent from doing anything that might displease the old hag.

'Harry!'

It was Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw. The boy was the heir apparent to the Goldsteins' fortune. He was tall and willowy, with dark brown-reddish hair and blue eyes. And he sat with Harry in Defence.

'Tony! What is it?' Harry stopped in the middle of the corridor, motioning for Ron and Hermione not to wait for him.

'We're having a party in the Room of Requirement today,' he whispered excitedly. 'I wanted you to know that you're welcome to come. Just don't tell anyone.'

Harry stared at the boy in front of him. Had he just invited him to a Ravenclaw party? It was a common knowledge around the school that Ravenclaw parties were, according to the rule of 'work hard, play hard', the best of all. And it was usually only the Ravenclaws who participated, and some of their Slytherin friends.

'Room of Requirement?' he asked, still shocked to find himself invited. 'Where's that?'

'Oh, you don't know...' Anthony muttered silently to himself. 'Meet me next to the portrait of Lady Handerson at eight tonight. Remember to wear concealment charms. We don't want Umbridge to spoil the fun, right?'

Harry smiled and nodded. Oh, yes. He was going to have a jolly good time.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - Of Ravenclaw Parties and Dangers

That afternoon, having finished all his lessons for the day, Harry found himself standing in front of his open trunk, staring helplessly at the contents. What was he supposed to wear to the party? Anthony forgot, or deliberately didn't tell him what the dress-code was, but Harry assumed that regardless of what was to happen during the night, he should wear something formal. Like, white tie formal. After all, it was not uncommon to hear stories of drunken Ravenclaws, coming back to their dormitories in vomit-stained tailcoats, being caught by a teacher on patrol for wayward pupils. It was said that only Snape and Flitwick didn't assign detentions on these occasions, but Harry had a hard time believing it. On the other hand, their pupils partied the most and the hardest, so maybe it was actually quite unsurprising.

Making up his mind, Harry pulled out a black tailcoat and trousers, white shirt, silver waistcoat and a white bowtie. He then found a pair of black, polished shoes, and put the clothes in a pile on his bed. He still had quite a lot of time. There was no point in dressing up now.

'Harry!' Ron barged into their dormitory, appearing quite flushed and breathless. The boy swung around to face his friend.

'Ron,' he acknowledged. 'What is it?'

'There was a letter for you in the common room,' the redhead said, eying the clothes laid out on the bed. 'What's that for?' he asked in disgust, pointing to the pile and at the same time handing Harry a yellowish envelope.

'Oh, I'm going out tonight,' the boy replied carelessly, breaking the seal on the letter. The parchment was thick, of a very good quality. He wondered who would be writing to him.

'Oh my God!' he exclaimed, reading the first lines of the letter.

'What?' Ron seemed startled.

'It's from Elizabeth Selwyn!'

'From who?' Now, seeing the confusion painted all over Weasley's face, Harry realised that he'd forgotten to tell his friends about the latest, or rather not so latest anymore, developments.

'Apparently she's my aunt, and as I am no longer safe at the Dursleys', I am to go live with her,' he explained patiently.

'Blimey!' Ron seemed surprised, but didn't question further. Harry was thankful that it wasn't Hermione standing there or he would have to tell the whole story from the beginning and he really didn't feel like it at the moment.

'What do you need all these fancy clothes for, Harry?' the redhead asked, looking somewhat distrustfully at the evening dress Harry had prepared.

'Anthony Goldstein invited me to a party tonight,' the boy replied, endorsed in the letter. 'And as far as I know, Ravenclaws dress up for their parties. So I thought it would be appropriate.'

Ron made a sour face but didn't say anything. With a short, 'Have fun, then', he left the dormitory shutting the door behind him, just a bit more forcefully than was actually needed.

_Dear Harry,_

_My name is Elizabeth Selwyn and I am writing to you because I have recently been made your legal magical guardian on request of Albus Dumbledore. You can probably imagine what a surprise it has been, since the hatred between my family and your headmaster is almost legendary. But never mind that, I'm not writing to you to discuss Dumbledore, after all._

_First, let me introduce myself, please. As you may, or may not, already know, I am your fifth cousin, twice removed. It's quite a distant relationship, but in the wizarding world blood is blood, and it's unquestionable that we are still family. Our last common ancestors were Augustus Potter and Bellena Black. You will probably be able to see the family tree in one of the books in Hogwarts' library. My line descended from Marlene Potter and yours from Hugo Potter. Try __**Wizarding Genealogy**__ if you're interested. _

_I don't know what Dumbledore told you about me, but I'm sure that he's warned you about the Selwyns' Dark history. It is true, for generations we had been one of many Dark families and the stigma is still associated with us. Don't feel, however, that you'll come to any harm while in my care. I shall make sure that you are as safe as possible. _

_It is also my pleasure to invite you over for Christmas break. I would love for us to get to know each other better. I hope you have not yet made any plans for this holiday season, however, should you decline, know that I will never hold it against you. _

_I would be deeply obliged if you would write back and tell me a bit about yourself, what do you like to do in your free time, what do you do at school. But of course I'll understand if you feel wary about writing to me. _

_I wish you all the very best,_

_Elizabeth Selwyn_

That evening found Harry standing next to the portrait of Lady Handerson, dressed in his tailcoat and hidden under the Invisibility Cloak. He got there early, unsure whether he knew exactly where the picture was, and therefore leaving some time to get to the correct place if he was mistaken. Thankfully, the boy managed to find the portrait in the seventh-floor corridor and now all he needed was for Anthony to come and take him to the party.

Curiously, Harry observed people passing by. Some of them wore tailcoats, just as he did, apparently not scared of Umbridge finding out, and the boy was certain that they were going to the party as well. Momentarily, he entertained the thought of going after them and finding the Room of Requirement by himself, but he quickly dismissed it. After all, he was supposed to meet with Anthony.

'Harry?' A quiet voice reached him out of nowhere. 'Are you there?'

The boy let his head show from under the Cloak. 'I'm here,' he said, looking around to identify where his friend stood.

'Wow!' Anthony's voice was full of awe. 'You've got an Invisibility Cloak? Wicked!'

Goldstein dropped his concealment charms and was now perfectly visible. He was dressed exactly like Harry, but for his waistcoat, which was bluish-green, embroidered with a golden thread.

The other boy took off his Cloak and relaxed when his clothes met a gaze full of approval. It was really important to him not to make a fool of himself. After all, those who once were invited to a Ravenclaw party and messed things up, they'd never again have a chance to redeem themselves. It was just that simple. Ravenclaws were the school elite and they only associated with those who would conform to their rules. And hard it was, as the rules were mostly unwritten. Only those who spent enough time around the Ravenclaws really knew what to expect and how to behave.

'Good,' Anthony said, a hint of surprise in his voice. 'Let's go, then.'

As it turned out, the Room of Requirement was just round the corner. One had to walk three times along the wall and say or think about what one wished. They, of course, wanted the _Ravenclaw partying spot_.

Upon entering the Room of Requirement, the notion of hedonism gained a whole new meaning in Harry's eyes. The place was huge, full of small tables and alcoves, filled with the smell of tobacco and alcohol. There was a long table in the back, covered with white cloth that had already sported stains from carelessly distributed food, its legs bending under the heaviness of the luxuriant, silver dishes.

The moment they stepped inside the room, a small first-year Ravenclaw offered them a glass of champagne from a tray he was holding. Harry took one and looked questioningly to Anthony. The other boy just shook his head and kept walking, leading the way to a round table by the window.

'It's my spot,' he said, pulling out the armchair and plonking himself onto it. 'No one can sit here without my permission.' He winked at Harry and motioned for him to take a seat.

'Why are you using first-years to serve you?' the boy asked, confused. 'Shouldn't they be asleep, or something?'

Anthony snorted.

'They are our fags,' he replied, grinning broadly. 'They just do what we tell them.'

Harry stared at him incredulously.

'Fags?' he repeated, gobsmacked. 'That's... Well, that's a bit mediaeval, isn't it?'

The other boy only laughed. 'No, not really. Don't they do that in Gryffindor anymore? We do have fags in Ravenclaw, and Slytherins have them too. It's really useful actually. Well, you may curse it when you're a first year, but when you're older, it only gets better. You are allowed a fag when you become a prefect or a captain of a team.'

Harry could only stare in amazement. He would definitely use a fag. Someone to bring him toast in the morning, so he could lie in a bit longer, someone to run errands for him, polish his shoes every day before classes, or just someone to be there when he needed something done and was too lazy to do it himself.

He snorted at his thoughts. It was so _un-Gryffindorish _of him. He could only imagine what Hermione would say to that.

Anthony caught his dreamy expression and smiled cheekily.

'Pity you Gryffindors haven't got it. But, to think of it, it wouldn't do you any good anyway. You're not a prefect. Or a captain, for that matter.'

'I'm crushed, Tony,' Harry muttered jokily. 'You've just killed off my dreams.'

For a short moment they didn't talk. They sipped they respective champagnes, staring around the room.

'Oi, George!' Anthony bellowed suddenly, trying to get attention of a tiny, red-haired boy carrying around a tray of caviar canapés and looking very out of place with his terrified expression, dressed in the overly large lime-green suit.

'Meet my fag, Harry,' he said, while the boy was shuffling their way.

'Hello, sir,' the child mumbled quietly. 'Do you need anything?'

'Yes, George, put the tray over here,' he pointed to the table they were sitting at. 'And go to bed. I want my coffee tomorrow at nine in the morning. White, with two spoonfuls of sugar. Now, get out of my sight.'

'Thank you, sir,' the boy replied, still very quietly, but his voice wasn't as miserable anymore.

'Insufferable snot,' Anthony muttered, good-naturedly, as the kid left the Room of Requirement.

'Why does he call you "sir"?' Harry asked curiously.

'Honestly, I have no idea,' the other boy said, sighing. 'I have told him millions of times to call me Anthony, but he seems too intimidated. He's an awful wimp. Always cries to be sent home, and such. I don't know why I took him on. No one else would, so I guess I felt some pity for him. And, of course, it's nice to have someone make your bed in the morning and wash your muddy jogging socks. But still... His constant blubbing can be really annoying.'

'Maybe he's homesick?' Harry offered, kindly trying to defend the kid. But the boy shook his head.

'I don't think that's the case. He was at Dragon Prep School before coming to Hogwarts. He was a boarder there too. But that school teaches nothing and only makes you a loser.' For a moment he seemed thoughtful, but the expression on his face changed immediately after he took a sip of his champagne, emptying the glass. 'Dammit! Shouldn't have let him go yet. Now we're gonna have no one to fetch us our drinks.'

Anthony stood suddenly and said, 'Wait a mo', I'll bring us a bottle of something. No good being here if we can't get pissed.' Then he left the table and disappeared somewhere behind the curtains on the other end of the room.

'Hello, Harry Potter.' A sudden, soft voice from behind almost made him jump. He turned his head around violently, only to face a girl in a stylish, black cocktail dress with a green and silver rosette. He recognised the girl from the early morning breakfast he had with Hermione.

'Hello,' he replied, finishing the last drops of his champagne. 'And you are...?'

The girl smiled coyly. 'Gwendolyn Popplewell,' she said shortly. 'You mind if I sit?' Harry shook his head and motioned for her to make herself comfortable.

'I've seen you at breakfast today,' she said, sitting down in the cushioned armchair. 'With a friend of yours.'

'Oh, yeah,' the boy suddenly felt a bit awkward. 'Hermione. You were with some Ravenclaw, if I remember correctly.'

'It was my cousin, Jenny Popplewell. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you to be careful with that book you were discussing in the morning. It's not exactly legal these days.'

Harry looked at her worriedly. 'What do you mean?'

He didn't notice Anthony coming back until he saw the boy sit down and place a large bottle of Firewhiskey in the middle of the table.

'Hi, Gwen,' he interrupted their conversation. 'Where have you lost Hugo?'

'He went to the loo.'

Anthony grinned maliciously. 'Already?'

The girl only rolled her eyes and turned back to Harry.

'As I said, it's illegal. Well, not as illegal as unforgivables, for example, but illegal nonetheless. I'd advise caution giving it to a Muggleborn. She might misinterpret the concept behind some of the ideas covered in that book.'

'Hermione's clever,' Harry decided to stubbornly cling to his theory. 'She knows that she can't just take for granted what a book says.' But as these words left his mouth, he knew he was wrong. Hermione might have been clever and intelligent, but she considered written word absolutely sacred. She always quoted books, not relied them in her own way. It was disconcerting.

'What would happen if someone got wind of this?' he asked, worried about his friend, as well as himself.

'Whoa, whoa, whoa...' Anthony interrupted again. 'What are you two talking about?'

'Apparently, Potter here has just given his Mud...erm...Muggleborn friend **Magical Potential**. I'm just explaining why it may have been a mistake,' said Gwen carelessly.

Anthony's eyes turned round as saucers. 'Where the hell did you get that book, mate? It was outlawed in the fifties.'

'But... but it bought it in Diagon Alley! At... at Flourish and Blotts!' Harry spluttered, a hint of desperation in his voice. The others whistled in shock.

'Merlin, don't tell anyone that,' said Anthony, just above a whisper. 'It's going to be quite sticky for the old Riggs if this gets out.'

'You mean, they could throw him into Azkaban? For a fucking book? That's ridiculous!' Harry was outraged. **Magical Potential **stood there for everyone to see, on a shelf at Flourish and Blotts, people were passing it, for God's sake, and they haven't done anything! Why would they do anything now?

'Okay, I've had enough,' Gwen said suddenly, raising from her seat. 'Come on, Harry, let's dance!' And before he could protest, shake his head, or announce his lack of skill, she had pulled him from his armchair and was already dragging him towards the middle of the room.

As they entered the wooden panels of the dance floor, the music grew significantly louder. It must have been silencing spells to allow the people to talk. There were couples, cuddled together, moving slowly to the tune of a ballad by the Weird Sisters.

'Gwen, I really can't dance.' Harry tried to get out and return to the table, but she held his arm firmly.

'Nonsense. Besides, everyone has to learn one day,' the girl said patiently. 'And imagine, I'll be telling my grandchildren that I taught the famous Harry Potter how to dance.' She smiled cheekily, but due to his revolted expression, her manner quickly became more business-like. 'Right, put your hands on my waist, yes, exactly like that, and then I put my hands on your neck, and now all you have to do is to swing that lovely bum of yours to the tune of the music.'

Harry would have probably blushed at the last comment had the circumstances been any different. As they were not, and he was trying really hard to relax, still unaware that relaxation comes only after one stops trying hard and actually relaxes without thinking about it, his brain didn't really register what Gwen said.

For a couple of minutes, they just danced calmly, once in a while exchanging a word about the people that surrounded them. Then the music changed, it became much quicker, so their movements also sped up. In the corner of his eye, Harry noticed that Anthony had found himself a girl and was now swirling her around the dance floor with the ability of a professional dancer. He felt a pang of jealousy. The boy was so good at that. Why couldn't he be such an agile dancer, too? Harry tried imitating some of his classmate's movements, and for a while it actually seemed to work. Still, he was too stiff and the movements were not as fluid as they should be.

'Nice,' Gwen commented. 'I see you're actually getting it.'

Harry sent her a smile and swirled her around. He'd never thought he would enjoy himself while dancing, but this girl made everything so easy. Even though she was a Slytherin, Harry felt much more comfortable dancing with her than he had with Parvati during the disastrous Yule Ball. Gwen didn't expect him to be ideal, she seemed to understand. And he was grateful for that, trying his best in return.

'Let's go and grab some drinks.' She winked at him impishly. 'Anthony's left a full bottle of Firewhiskey at the table. Shame not to make use of it.'

'...and... then, can you imagine? He just went and done it!' Hugo slurred, drunk and stoned. The rest of the company didn't fare any better. They were laughing and singing rude songs, once in a while interrupted with some anecdote from the life of the Slytherin common room. Firewhiskey was being poured and mandrake flowers were being smoked, relaxing the senses, loosening the tongues, and lowering inhibitions.

Gwen sat next to Harry, cuddled against his side, with a glass of a hard liquor in her hand. Harry's hand was cheekily resting on her slender thigh, caressing the sensitive skin on the inside and his head was hidden in the crook of her neck, his warm breath tickling her beneath the ear. Anthony was in his armchair, snogging Juliette from Hufflepuff, whom he swore he'd just met, and Hugo, Gwen's ex-boyfriend, with whom she still remained on amicable terms, was sprawled across the table, all his limbs hanging from the sides, almost touching the floor. He was holding a joint of mandrake in one hand and a glass of Firewhiskey swung haphazardly in the other. He had just finished a story about a Slytherin prefect for whom he was fagging in his first year. His name was Danny Coulton, he was a pampered pureblood prince, with a perverse love of putting himself in ridiculous situations. One day, he had a bet with some of his friends, when they were apparently pretty pissed, that he'd go to Hogsmeade right there on the spot and return with Sugar Quills from Honeydukes without the teachers noticing.

As it turned out, Danny, in his tails stained with spilt alcohol, smelling worse than a brewery, walked through the green fields surrounding Hogwarts, straight into the village, bought the sweets and returned, unnoticed. His friends were so shocked that they have immediately paid him the fifty galleons and stood there, rooted to the spot, for a long time, before finally dropping down to the floor and falling asleep.

'...Merlin!' cried Gwen, jumping out of her cosy place by Harry to top up her glass from the half-emptied bottle that stood on the table, next to Hugo's head. 'Do you know any funny songs, Harry?' she asked, looking at him amusedly. The rest of the company groaned.

'He was brought up by Muggles and then spent half his life in Gryffindor,' Juliette pointed out, _de-sucking _herself for a moment from Anthony's lips. 'All he can sing is probably _God Save The Queen _and _This Old Man.'_

Harry levelled her with a glare.

'I know a song actually,' he hissed disdainfully. It felt like a challenge. And he was not a Gryffindor for nothing.

'By all means then, mate... Proceed.' Anthony smiled indulgently.

As they all did before, the boy stood up and stared down at his friends. He stumbled forward in order to be better seen and heard, and began in a surprisingly clear and pleasant tenor. Singing was an indispensible part of any wizarding party in the company of purebloods and Harry was only too happy to contribute. He surely wouldn't have agreed to sing had he been sober, but there was nothing to keep him from singing at the moment.

_Well a Scotsman clad in kilt left a bar one evening fair_

_And one could tell by how he walked that he'd drunk more than his share_

_He fumbled 'round until he could no long keep his feet_

_And he stumbled off in to the grass to sleep beside the street_

_Ring-ding didle lidle la deoRing dye didley eye oh_

_He stumbled off in to the grass to sleep beside the street_

He was about to sit back down, when Juliette spoke again.

'Wow, that was good.' She stated aloud with what the rest had also silently agreed.

'Is that the end of the song? What is it, anyway? It was definitely Muggle.' The questions were falling on him from every direction. There were some whistles coming from the neighbouring tables, too. Harry thought that if it wasn't for the help of alcohol cruising in his veins, he would have never had the bottle to sing in the first place, and would have definitely be blushing a deep beet-red now, that he'd actually done it.

'It's a song by Irish Rovers, it's a Muggle band. I'm not sure what it's called. _Drunken Scotsman_, or something like that. It was just the first stanza,' he said, sitting down, pouring himself another glass of Firewhiskey and downing it all in one gulp.

'Woohoo!' There was an applause and laughter all around.

'Merlin's knickers, mate! I had no idea you had a voice like that!' bellowed Anthony, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

'Yeah, well, that makes two of us,' he choked out, barely keeping himself from massaging his burning throat. It was not his brightest idea to take it all at once.

'We want more!' the crowd chanted. 'We want more!'

But Harry only grinned with amusement, leaned back in his armchair and closed his eyes. It didn't last long, though, as Gwen, staggering drunkenly, pulled him onto the dance floor, where they twisted their bodies ridiculously in some farce of a dance until dawn started breaking on the horizon, and Hugo Pelling, who managed to sober up a bit after the snooze on the table, ordered them all to go back to their dorms, lest they wished him to start giving out detentions.

* * *

There;) Hope you enjoyed it. The story is taking on a new direction. Harry the Rebellious Teen, how do you like the idea? Whether you like it or not, that's how it's going to be, so you may just as well get used to it.

You may have noticed the change in pairing. Voldemort is not going to play a very big role in Stand Before Your God, but he will be a very major character in All the King's Men, the story's sequel.

Anyway, **Slytherin66**, I will for an nth time say that I absolutely adore your reviews. You must be one of my most dedicated readers, thank you for that.

Thanks for reading and sharing everyone:)


	11. Chapter 11

Hi Folks! Next chapter for you:) It's a bit of a filler, but the sooner we get to the Christmas break the sooner something interesting will happen.

Thank you again for your kind words and let me assure you, Harry shan't be in any sort of relationship with Voldemort in the future. This story is not a romance, there will be some minor (very minor) sexual allusions, etc., it's a story about teenagers after all, but do not expect anything sweet and fluffy. Politics and magic, that's what the story is and will remain about.

Cheerio:)

* * *

Chapter 11 - You Must Be Joking!

As winter had slowly began closing in, the afternoons became dark and cold. No-one cherished the playing fields anymore, especially since Umbridge had finally introduced mandatory four hours of physical education a week, which for lack of a more appropriate place had to be carried out outside.

Harry, having been on the Quidditch team for almost five years now and being fairly used to practices in the freezing pitch, watched with a steadily growing amusement a group of grumbling fourth-years leaving the Entrance Hall, dressed in their uniform sport gear, off to play rugby. Or rather, a magical version of it. To be honest, Harry didn't see any difference between the two, but every wizarding-born person would get deadly offended if anyone dared to say 'Rugby', instead of 'Wizarding Rugby', usually shortened to 'WizRug', to relieve the pupils from having to say the whole thing at once.

It was late November, Harry was eating his breakfast in the Great Hall, sitting across from Hermione, having left Ron sleeping soundly in the dorm. The girl was reading a thick volume, which he knew was **Magical Potential**, but was too afraid to admit that the book had been illegal for some time now and take it away from her. He didn't like the fact that Hermione seemed mostly annoyed by what she read in there and each time he'd seen her immersed in the book, her face bore a nasty scowl.

'I've finished,' she said coldly, closing the text and handing it to him over the table. 'I don't think that what they've written is correct.' Her tone carried the air of superiority in it. 'Honestly, I've checked the reference books, I've tried to find the information on animagi and on food. But it's nowhere to be found. And the publisher, Rowlands and Myers, they specialised in printing Dark books until the early sixties. I've checked them out in the library. They were orderd to close down in nineteen-sixty-two. I don't think you should bother with that book. It's not even that good.'

Harry hid the volume in his schoolbag. 'I don't know, Hermione,' he told her silently. 'Over the summer, Sirius said that it is true that Muggleborns cannot become animagi.'

The girl snorted. 'Well, even if that's indeed the case, everything else, from magic being sentient to citrus fruits increasing your ability to apparate is a pure nonsense. I mean, it says that magic cannot be confined and used. But isn't that exactly what you do with your wand? By using your wand, you use magic. It's obvious. And that crap about different diets affecting your magical ability? Honestly, preposterous!'

Harry was about to start arguing with her, when he remembered that the book was actually illegal and he wasn't even supposed to know that it existed. He sighed with resignation and returned to his porridge. He didn't agree with Hermione. Magic was sentient, it could recognise moods and needs. Otherwise, why were emotions needed to produce certain spells? Or how did accidental magic come by? As for the food, it may seem a bit far-fetched, but then Muggles had diets, too. Diets to cure diseases, diets to lose or gain weight, diets to improve one's looks. And magic and brain of a wizard needed to feed on something. Maybe, if someone wanted to trigger a particular part of brain responsible for the piece of magical core that helped with a certain branch of magic, he had to eat foods that would quicken or improve the flux of magic in the body part concerned.

'Whatever you say, Hermione,' Harry mumbled finally, never missing the calculating look that the girl shot him.

'I'm serious,' she replied, her voice full of worry. 'I don't want you reading such things and then start behaving like Luna Lovegood with her Snorkacks-somethings. I understand that it may seem interesting to you, those mystical things always do, but it's not real, Harry.'

'Okay, okay,' he snapped, not really willing to listen to her nagging. 'Let's go. Potion's starting in a moment.' He stood up and flung his bag over his shoulder.

'Ron will be late again,' Hermione muttered darkly. 'Really, he's so irresponsible! And I thought that being a prefect would teach him something. Dumbledore's probably already regretting his choice.'

Harry only shook his head, as they headed towards the dungeons.

'Where's Mr Weasley?' The scathing voice of professor Snape cut the air, as he arrived at the end of the list of names when taking the roll call. 'Mr Potter? An explanation, please?'

'I don't know, sir,' the boy replied politely, cursing himself inwardly for having nothing better to say to cover up for his friend. 'Maybe he fell ill? I left the dorm early today and I didn't see him.'

'I see. I shall be contacting Madame Pomfrey and professor McGonagall about Mr Weasley's whereabouts, make no mistake. Open your books on page fifty-nine and gather the ingredients for the potion. Do not attempt to do anything yet. Just set up your cauldron and prepare the knives and ladles. I will be explaining the ingredient-preparation process in a moment.'

Harry stomped out of the Potions' classroom at the end of the lesson. It was a disaster. As Ron had conveniently only showed up in the middle of the brewing process, losing Gryffindor thirty points and receiving a detention for 'not leading by example', the boy was mostly on his own. He'd never been a Potions genius, and even with Snape's hazy explanations on how to cut Primolina's root in order for it to remain most effective, he had no clue what to do.

Before the lesson was done, Harry lost twenty points for not paying attention and another ten for holding the knife the wrong way. And just as he was ready to proclaim that the day could not possibly get any worse, after a relatively peaceful Transfiguration, he was accosted by an owl during lunch. The brown bird arrived just as he was loading his plate with comfort food to ease his foul mood, landing exactly in the middle of the table and knocking over a tureen of soup. The liquid sped around the table, making some of the more delicate and appearance-conscious girls shriek with annoyance.

'Let me guess, you're here for me,' Harry muttered irritably. He took the envelope tied to the owl's leg and stared at his surname written there in an emerald green ink. The handwriting was definitely Dumbledore's, making the boy wonder what the old headmaster would want from him now. He hoped it wasn't any more news about possible claimants to his person.

'Wha's tha', 'arry?' Ron asked, his mouth full of chicken casserole.

'A letter from Dumbledore,' the boy replied curtly. 'Wonder what he wants. Where's Hermione, by the way?'

Ron just shrugged his shoulders. He had a fight with the girl after Potions about being late, and they hadn't spoken since.

On his way to dormitory, Harry opened the letter and read that his presence was requested in the headmaster's office as soon as possible, so the boy turned around and went the other way. The halls were mostly empty, as the pupils were still eating lunch and rejoicing in a half-day. It didn't change the fact that after the meal, for some of them there would be games in the playing fields, and as the day was particularly frosty, no-one was really looking forward to it.

'Sugar Quills,' said Harry as he arrived in front of the gargoyle statue guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office. He ran upstairs, knocked on the door and entered upon receiving a muffled, 'Come in, please!'

'Hello, professor,' he greeted the headmaster and took a seat, as instructed.

'Good afternoon, my boy. I do hope you've had a nice week?' Dumbledore seemed quite cordial.

'Yes, thank you, sir. Is there a reason for my being here?' he asked, never being one to beat around the bush. The old headmaster smiled indulgently.

'Oh, yes, yes,' he said a bit distractedly. 'Tea?'

'No, thank you. I've just had lunch.' Harry definitely wasn't in a mood for sugar-coating. He wanted to know what happened and why was he here.

'Very well. I have some news for you, Harry, about Elizabeth Selwyn. She accepted to be your guardian and requested that you be sent home to her for Christmas,' Dumbledore explained the purpose of Harry's visit to his office.

'Oh, well, I kinda already knew that,' the boy muttered sheepishly. 'She's sent me a letter some time ago. Sorry, sir, I didn't think about telling you. I reckon I should have.' Harry scratched his forehead, looking apologetically at the headmaster.

The old man sighed heavily.

'Yes, Harry, you should have told me. Remember, we don't know what she may have in store for you. I would advise caution.' Dumbledore gazed piercingly at the boy. 'What did she write? Have you still got the letter?'

If Harry hadn't been staring at his shoes, the headmaster would have seen a look of indignation on the boy's face. He wanted to read his post? That was an invasion of privacy! Feeling vindictive, Harry told the old man that he burned the letter, despite it still lying in his drawer.

'All she's written was that she didn't intend to let anything happen to me and that I could check the degree of our kinship in a book _**Wizarding Genealogy**_,' the boy said, feeling guilty for deceiving the headmaster. 'Oh, and she invited me for Christmas, too,' he added as an afterthought.

'I'm afraid you won't find that book in Hogwarts' library, Harry. We got rid of it some time ago. It was too bigoted. But never mind that. As we cannot avoid you going to your aunt's house for those four weeks, I have arranged for you to have Occlumency lessons before you leave,' Dumbledore told him, his voice deadly serious.

'Occlumency?' Harry's face was ridden with confusion.

'Yes, it's a branch of magic dedicated to protecting your mind from outside interference,' the man explained. 'You will have lessons twice a week, for the next three weeks, before you leave. I don't want Elizabeth Selwyn or any of her associates to fiddle with your mind. She might find out something that we'd rather keep secret.'

Occlumency. _Occlumency. _Suddenly, Harry remembered the dream he had on the train. Emmanuel was teaching Ralph how to close his mind. He was trying to get him to relax and clear his thoughts. And the little boy seemed quite good at that. But as soon as he was reminded of Ralph, he also remembered the terrible fate he suffered and there was a wave of nausea rushing through his body.

'Who's going to teach me?' he asked, trying to get rid of the dreadful images from his memory.

'You will report today at six to professor Snape's office. He's our most skilled teacher in the art of mind magic.'

'Snape?' Harry repeated with disbelief. 'You must be joking. I will not take any private tutoring from that... that... awful man!' the boy finished lamely, stopping himself in time not to call the professor some disrespectful name.

The headmaster's eyes hardened. 'You will study Occlumency under professor Snape. It is for your own good!'

'I'm sick of people telling me what to do!' Harry shouted angrily. 'And I will not do anything with Snape, of all people!'

The boy could see that Dumbledore was slowly losing patience with him, but he didn't care. He would not learn anything form Snape!

'My boy, you're being unreasonable...'

'No, I'm not!' Harry felt more aggravated by a minute. 'I don't want anything to do with Snape, no more than I have to! He's a horrible teacher, and he hates me!'

The boy was breathing heavily, the adrenaline still cruising in his veins. He wasn't going to let anyone walk all over him, not anymore. Deep inside, he felt that his outburst was indeed a bit unreasonable, but he wasn't going to let that on. He was determined to put his foot down this time.

'Let's make a deal, then,' Dumbledore was still trying to persuade the boy peacefully. 'If professor Snape behaves in a way that you think is inappropriate and unprofessional, you may come to me and I will investigate the situation. However, it is of great importance that you learn Occlumency. You don't know what Elizabeth Selwyn may do.' The professor was truly terrified about the prospect of sending Harry to her for Christmas. One wrong move and he could lose everything.

'No,' the boy said stubbornly. 'I don't want to learn anything from Snape, and you can't force me. It's not on the curriculum. Besides, I have enough on my plate as it is.'

Dumbledore felt cold rage building up in him. How he hated this teenage behaviour! He managed to cool down quickly, and, completely collected again, resorted to threats.

'Harry, I understand your reluctance about Occlumency lessons with professor Snape. But you need to understand your own situation. I cannot allow you to go to a house of a potentially dangerous Dark witch unprepared. As it is, you need to decide for yourself. You will either attend the tutoring sessions with professor Snape, or you will lose your Quidditch privileges. I will not back down on this one.'

Harry glared at the headmaster incredulously.

'You can't be serious!' he shouted with anger. 'I will not learn this Occlu-something from Snape, of all people!'

'Then I have to say goodbye to you, my boy,' Dumbledore said with sadness in his voice. 'I do hope you'll come to your senses quickly. We'll be able to discuss the return of your Quidditch privileges then as well.'

Harry let out the breath he was holding and was about to say something he knew he would regret later on, but a knock on the door stopped him.

'Come in, please!' Dumbledore called out. Harry was shocked to see Hermione standing outside. He exchanged a curious look with his best friend and left, without even saying 'goodbye'.

Harry sat in his favourite armchair in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, sulking. He had just received a huge dressing down from Angelina Johnson, a Quidditch captain, who took over after Oliver left school last year. The girl was furious that he had got himself removed from the team. Harry, on the other hand, was annoyed with her for bringing that up, and all hell broke loose.

Thankfully, Angelina had to leave for practice, so the whole row didn't last long, but it didn't improve Harry's foul mood in the slightest. Now, he sat in front of the fireplace, his legs swung over the arm-piece, his arms crossed, and an angry scowl on his face.

Finally, Harry got tired of sitting still, he got up and run to the playing fields to join in a WizRug game. He needed to punch someone, and that way he would at least get his wish granted with no-one being able to accuse him of starting fights.


	12. Chapter 12

Dear me, I've neglected you. I'm really sorry for it. I should have posted earlier, but I'm a bit busy at the moment. Hope you like this tinsy filler chapter. More substance to come soon;)

Chapter 12 - 'An Alien's Guide To Albion' And Other Surprises

Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room, nursing his injuries. He had a black eye and multiple bruises around his arms and legs. And it had nothing to do with the game of WizRug he participated in just two days ago. Actually, one could argue that the game was in a way responsible for his present condition, but it was a bit more complicated than that.

After showing up in the playing fields, angry and in a destructive mood, Harry's actions were more brutal than even those of the Slytherin's Quidditch captain, Marcus Flint. He was very keen on hurting someone to relieve his tension. Ignoring any safety precautions, the boy would throw the ball as hard as he could, observing with immense pleasure the shock on the other players' faces as it hit them on the chest, forcefully punching the air out of their lungs. He raked his steel-studded boots on their calves, smirking as they cried out in pain. It was ridiculous, and he was horrified by his own actions, but it felt so good not to be the wonder boy everyone seemed to believe him to be. It was as if the events in Dumbledore's office helped to break some dam that held all his emotions at bay, allowing for a full-blown teenage rebellion.

When the game was over, Harry felt quite relieved. He was pleasantly tired, having fulfilled his need for violence, and was slowly walking around the lake, his clothes all sprayed with mud from the soggy playing fields. He observed with dull interest dragonflies which, by all logic, should have already retired for the winter.

'Oi, Potter!' bellowed a rough voice from behind him. Harry turned around lazily and stared at sixth-year Billy Jones-Cooper from Hufflepuff, whose legs he had particularly little regard for during today's game. He was surrounded by three of his classmates, all looking spitefully at the younger boy. Harry swallowed heavily. Maybe it wasn't the best time to go for a walk, after all?

His recollections of what happened later were rather blurry. All he knew was that somehow no-one has noticed their unequal fight, allowing the older boys to thrash him rather badly.

'I deserved that, really,' he told Hermione, when the concerned girl asked him about his bleeding nose and swollen lip upon his return to the Gryffindor Tower. She frowned at his explanation, but mercifully didn't question him any further. It was quite unlike her, but Harry was only too happy about it to complain.

At the moment, the boy sat in seclusion at a far end of the common room as far from the other pupils as possible in the crowded Tower, wallowing in self pity, once in a while touching his bruised thigh only to convince himself that it still hurt like hell and he would have been better off not touching it at all.

He was reading a book that Gwen gave him in the morning during breakfast. It was delivered via owl post to prevent inconvenient questions; namely, why would a Slytherin give Harry Potter a book and what was it about. There was a short note attached to it:

_Potter,_

_Read this. I bet you'll enjoy it. Just don't let that friend of yours see it. It may not be illegal, but she certainly wouldn't like it. And make no mistake, it's just a loan. Meaning, I want it back as soon as you're done with it!_

_All the best,_

_Gwen_

The book was titled **An Alien's Guide To Albion**_. _Having read the description on the back cover, Harry knew that it was a humorous handbook given to foreign dignitaries and diplomats to help them understand British wizarding customs and traditions. It comprised of two sections, one for children and one for adults. Both were fascinating, and Harry could only sigh wistfully, thinking about the things he had missed while growing up in the Muggle world. He didn't read the same stories, he didn't play the same games, he didn't laugh at the same jokes, nor wore the same clothes until Sirius took him to Diagon Alley to buy a whole new wardrobe. But that was not all. He _had_ missed the vital part of culture acquisition. He didn't understand allusions and nuances, he hadn't read the same literature and poetry, he never used as much magic as his friends. The simplest example to show that was Anthony Goldstein, who would, for instance, summon the things he needed, not walk to get them, as Harry would have done.

'Potter!' an annoyed shriek broke the boy's concentration. It was Angelina Johnson, coming over with a very dissatisfied expression upon her face. 'You've missed another practice!'

'Well, I'm sorry, but it's not my damned fault that Dumbledore's going senile and got me off the team!' he shot back, feeling anger building up inside him again.

'What have you done, then?' she asked, shaking with rage. 'If we lose the next match because of you, I'll have you permanently removed!'

Harry squinted his eyes dangerously. 'Good. Do that. I don't care. I don't fucking care about anything. Least of all that stupid game! I'm done with it,' and with that resolution, he gathered his book and left the common room for the library.

Sitting at the table in the dark corner of the library didn't improve his mood at all. On the contrary, he began contemplating his own sanity. Why on earth did he tell Angelina that he didn't care? He loved Quidditch. He loved flying, feeling the sweep of the wind on his face. Living without Quidditch was like living without water.

He buried his head in his hands, pulling painfully at his hair.

'Damn. Damn. Damn...' he muttered, frustrated. Everything seemed so messed up lately.

'What's wrong, Potter?' Harry raised his eyes only to see Hugo Pelling, the Slytherin prefect, whom he got drunk with during the Ravenclaw party. The boy didn't really look like he cared all that much about Harry's wellbeing, but the attempt at beginning the conversation was quite impressive in itself, considering Slytherin's and Gryffindor's mutual dislike.

'Nothing,' Harry replied quickly, having learnt some time ago that with this lot it was better not to show emotions. 'What's up with you?'

Hugo unceremoniously lounged in the armchair next to Harry's, throwing his schoolbag on the side.

'Not much,' the boy said, suddenly not sure what to talk about with Potter, of all people. It wasn't that hard at the party, when they were all drunk, but as it were, he could only wonder what Gwen had seen in the scrawny, undersized boy, who looked more thirteen than fifteen, and who seemed afraid of his own shadow. 'Anthony and Gwen were looking for you. We are having a tea party in the Room of Requirement today. Are you interested? It will probably be just the four of us, unless Goldstein brings Juliette or... someone else.' Hugo, undoubtedly, would rather use a more descriptive word to refer to this 'someone else', but restrained himself. After all, he was a prefect and as much as partying in an unsavoury company was his second nature the younger years were not supposed to be privy to this information. And there were lots of first- and second-years sitting around.

'Well, sure, why not.' Harry was pretty surprised to be receiving another invitation. Maybe it was a way for him to be pulled out of his misery? 'When is it?'

Hugo glanced at his watch and grinned. 'Just about now, I think. Come on, pack up your harlequins and let's go.'

Harry squinted his eyes. 'I bet Gwen will be over the moon when she hears what you consider her priceless bits of lore to represent.'

Pelling only laughed and pulled the boy out of his seat.

Gwendolyn Popplewell came from a very old pureblood family where tea parties were a cherished ritual, carried out every Sunday, exactly at five thirty in the afternoon. It didn't matter whether it was summer or winter, whether a family member died or a baby was born, they didn't care about the Blitz, or the Napoleonic Wars, the Dark Lord's activities be damned as well - the tea would be on the table at Popple Hall, precisely at five thirty, regardless of circumstances.

The girl loved this family tradition, and was willing to go to any lengths to uphold it even here, at Hogwarts. She made the kitchen elves prepare her a self-refilling teapot, scones, biscuits, cakes and little sandwiches. There was a quaint beauty to it, laid out on tiered plates, decorated with flowers and fruit. Gwen felt that it was all like a plastic rose, compared to what she usually had at home, but it would have to do for the time being. Nonetheless, she felt quite proud of herself when Harry and Hugo complimented her taste in decorations, and Anthony with Rosalie Sommes, his newest addition to the never-ending list of girlfriends, looked with approval around the generously set table.

'Who thrashed you like that, mate?' asked Anthony. The boy sat comfortably in a large wicker armchair, with Rosalie on his lap, feeding him grapes. Harry felt a little awkward at this evident display of affection. He was sure that Anthony used every girl he went out with only once. He treated them as personal servants and then let them go, finding himself another one for the next time. Harry didn't agree with that and thought this kind of treatment rude and inconsiderate. But who was he to complain? Apart from being a heartbreaker, Anthony was an excellent companion. And he was a born and bred wizard. Harry, despite his better judgement, felt jealous and was trying to emulate his behaviour. Not that he would ever agree if someone confronted him about it.

'Jones-Cooper and his little gang,' the boy admitted, sighing. 'I should have expected it, though.'

That caught their attention.

'What have you done?' asked Hugo, undoubtedly speaking for everyone in the room.

'Well, I had a fight with the headmaster, so I went to play WizRug. I just needed to punch something. Really, really badly. And I kind of injured Jones-Cooper. I raked my shoes on his shin. It was pretty messy, actually. But it's not like it's illegal!' At the beginning Harry's voice was quite sheepish, but his final statement came out firm and self-righteous.

Everyone laughed.

'Sure, you should have expected that,' said Anthony, shaking with laughter. 'Merlin! What I wouldn't give to see this idiot thrashing in the mud, crying about his leg! That must have been hilarious!'

Harry grinned. 'Yeah, it was pretty funny. He had to skip all the way to the hospital wing with his lackeys holding him up.'

'How did you like the book?' Gwen asked, bored with talking about fights and trying to change the subject.

'I didn't read the whole thing yet,' the boy replied immediately. 'I've just finished the chapter on children's literature. I've written down the titles and I intend to look them up in the library.'

That made them all raise their eyebrows.

'Ambitious,' said Hugo, clearly impressed with Potter's resolution to find out all he could about the wizarding world. 'If you want, I can give you my old notes from prep school. I should still have them somewhere. I'll find them over Christmas and bring them for you.'

'Wow, thanks, man. That would be great.'

Harry didn't understand why all of the sudden the purebloods wanted him to try to become more knowledgeable in the wizarding ways. Not that he minded, either, but he felt it rather odd.

'I've heard from my parents that there was some commotion in Diagon Alley in the morning,' said Rosalie, speaking up for the first time. She was really beautiful, making Harry wonder how on earth did Goldstein always end up with the prettiest girls at school. 'The Ministry detected some Dark activity and they went to, ah, _solve the problem.'_

'Really?' Hugo's voice sounded worried. After all, many of his family lived in Diagon Alley, and all of them would be considered Dark wizards by the general populace.

'Yeah... Well, that's what my mum told me. And she works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.'

'Holy shit!' Anthony swore angrily. 'I hate those Ministry twats! They are impossible! As if they couldn't just leave people to decide what's reasonable. It's not as if we're lacking common sense.'

'Maybe those _were_ some evil wizards they are talking about?' Harry mused, but had quickly withdrawn his opinion upon seeing the thunderous expressions on his friends' faces.

'Harry, you are in a desperate need to finish the book I gave you,' said Gwen, shaking her head. 'You will then understand that Dark Magic and Dark Arts are two different things.'

'But I know they are!' the boy raised his voice, indignant. 'And I also know that the majority of people don't really recognise the difference.'

'But there's no difference, Harry. There can't be. It's like comparing Muggle plastics to a fine acromantula silk. They are two completely independent things,' Gwendolyn held her fort. 'Really, read the book. It's all explained in there. And you've read **Magical Potential. **You should have a pretty good grasp of the topic in the end.'

They continued sipping their tea, humouring Gwen and allowing her to read their tea-leaves in the end. The girl enjoyed any form of divination, especially when used in the company of friends, to add some amusement to the proceedings.

'So, what's in my cup?' asked Harry warily, already afraid of the answer.

'Well, it's sort of a sheep? And... and a sun?' Gwen scratched her head, thoughtful. 'I think it means that you're about to receive help and assistance, and that you'll live in health and happiness. Or whatever. I'm not as good with it as I used to be.'

The boy stared at her. That was his first prophecy that didn't include doom and gloom. He nodded his head appreciatively, took the cup that was being handed back to him, and observed with interest as Gwen predicted 'disappointment and loss' for Rosalie. He almost snorted. Gwendolyn was either making it up to boost the reliability of her reading, or she really knew what she was doing. They all, well, maybe apart from the girl concerned, knew that Goldstein wouldn't see her after today anymore.

Harry noticed Hugo and Anthony exchange meaningful glances.

'What do you see in my cup, Buggy?' asked Pelling, smirking as she glared at him for calling her that stupid name.

'I don't even have to look inside,' Gwen stated irritably. 'There's only your lacking brain and its further deterioration.'

'Ha-ha, very funny. Come on, Buggy,' Hugo pleaded, fanning his eyelashes, which only made him look ridiculous.

'Hmm... Looks like a blade... well, no. No, it's a cricket bat. Shows love of sport and fair play. Or some such crap. Quite Gryffindorrish of you, dear,' Gwen smirked nastily.

'Hey! There's nothing bad about being Gryffindor!' cried Harry, indignant.

'But, of course, not. As long as you're in Gryffindor. But our dear, old Hugo here is a Slytherin. And so far, I thought that he was Slytherin to his very core. Shows how much I knew.'

Hugo only huffed.

'Anthony, there's something loosely resembling a big thumb here,' Gwen pronounced, turning around the other boy's cup in her hands. 'Seems that you'll show some backbone soon. It's a sign of strength and endurance.'

'What's in your cup, Gweeny-weeny?' taunted Hugo, knowing precisely that the girl hated reading her own tea-leaves. She blushed crimson.

'Oh, nothing really. I'm not sure, it's quite...'

'Oh, bullshit!' bellowed Anthony and snatched the cup from her hands. 'Hmm... Something like a harp? And a... a bird? A big bird? Maybe a hawk or an eagle? No clue, really. I've never taken divination.' He handed the cup back to the girl.

'What does it mean?' asked Harry, looking curiously at Gwen. But she didn't respond. Instead, she said that the party was over and they'd better go back to their dorms.


	13. Chapter 13

Hi folks! Here's the next chapter. I've noticed I'm failing in my promise to post a chapter every other day. It's kind of hard at the moment, I do hope you'll excuse me. I am trying, though maybe I should be trying a little harder;P

Thanks for your reviews, they are highly appreciated:))

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Chapter 13 - Bad Things Travel In Flocks

On Monday, Harry woke up early. He felt groggy and fatigued, completely unwilling to get out of his soft, comfortable bed. He was ready to bet all his worldly possessions that the water in the shower would be cold, as no-one had yet used it this morning, all the boys waiting for a scapegoat to go and shower first. He cursed under his breath, wondering why on earth hadn't he yet learnt a warming spell after more than four years of the same problem. But, however weird it seemed, it had never before occurred to the boy to warm the water up with magic.

Moaning as if he were a sheep going to slaughter, Harry dragged his body off the bed and slowly gathered pieces of his uniform, as usual scattered all over the floor. It was good that Umbridge had recently given up on dorm inspections, delegating the duty to house prefects. Otherwise, they might have been in detention for the rest of their stay at Hogwarts, and Harry wasn't particularly looking forward to writing with a Blood Quill anytime soon. As it were, Ron the Prefect, responsible for their dormitory, was actually one of the messiest of them, and if it wasn't for Hermione, they would probably never be tidying up in there.

As expected, the water was freezing. Harry hissed, startled by the sudden coldness touching his skin. He moved to the side, out of the way of the stream of water, and waited patiently for it to warm up. He remembered wistfully the wonderful Prefect's Bathroom, which he visited in his fourth year.

'They don't have to wait for the water to get warm,' he muttered bitterly to himself.

As soon as the water got mildly lukewarm, Harry washed quickly and got dressed.

'Thanks, man,' Seamus said sleepily, sticking his head from underneath the duvet. 'I was beginning to worry that I would have to go shower first.'

Harry frowned. 'We have to do something about it,' he replied, still annoyed with the cold shower. 'Does anyone of you know any warming charms, or something?'

They all shook their heads.

'I could ask my Grandma,' supplied Neville. 'But I think it's supposed to be like that. You know, the remnants of the old system.'

Seamus and Harry looked at him, confused. Neville squirmed.

'Well, I mean... You know... Some time ago, people were supposed to find their own way around it,' he said, somewhat uncomfortably. 'Rachel Davvy from Ravenclaw told me that some sixth- and seventh-year boys in her house used the first-years to go in there and warm the water up for them. And I know that the Hufflepuffs use some warming spell.'

Harry was gobsmacked. They used their fags for that? He laughed.

'What's so funny, Harry?' asked Ron, whose bed-ragged, red mop had just emerged from the abyss of his bedcovers.

'Just... The whole situation is ridiculous,' the boy admitted. 'Why haven't we thought about asking anyone for a warming spell?'

Neville stared at him horrified.

'Are you crazy? Ask them? Now? It our fifth year? And admit that we were showering with cold water for all this time? It would make us the laughing stock of the school!'

There were agreeing murmurs around the room.

'Great,' Harry snapped. 'Then ask your grandmother, Neville. Or maybe I could ask Hermione?'

'Good idea,' said Ron, jumping out of the bed. 'Do that at breakfast today. Now, I'm going to take a shower, since Harry's so considerately managed to get the water warm. Again. Thank you, mate,' he finished with a mock bow and a salute.

Sitting at the breakfast table with Ron, Harry wondered where on earth had Hermione gone to this early in the morning. He wanted to ask her about the warming spells, so he wouldn't have to endure another cold shower, but the girl was nowhere to be found.

'The post's here,' Ron said, pointing to the ceiling. All kinds of owls were flying in every direction, dropping parcels, newspapers and letters.

Having received nothing at all, Harry watched his best friend open the Daily Prophet and flick through its pages uninterestingly.

'Anything happened?' he asked, hoping that maybe Voldemort had finally revealed himself.

'Not really. Look for yourself.' And he threw him the already mangled newspaper.

Harry scanned the headlines. Indeed, nothing interesting had happened. The Daily Prophet spoke about the advancement of the educational reform, about the impending general elections, and presented another candidate for the Minister of Magic, Lord Oswald Fellowes.

And then it hit him. On the bottom of the second page was a short article, that made Harry's insides freeze.

_**Flourish & Blotts sold Dark books to a schoolboy**_

_This Saturday, the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement received intelligence that the renowned bookseller sold a copy of a book classified as Dark since 1953 to a schoolboy from Hogwarts. On the school's request, the child's name will not be disclosed. _

_'I was informed by one of the prefects that there were illicit items on the school grounds,' Hogwarts' headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, spoke on behalf of the school. 'I've taken immediate action, and also informed the Ministry about the fact that the book was sold to a pupil under my care in the Ministry-approved book shop. I'm sure there will be a full investigation as to why such an artefact came into the possession of a child barely fifteen.'_

_The owner of Flourish & Blotts, Mr Horatio Riggs, was arrested on Sunday morning and will be held in the Azkaban fortress until the day of his trial. Should the case against him be proven true, the Law Against the Dark 1921 clearly states that the appropriate punishment for such an infraction is the Dementor's Kiss._

Harry sat there, at the Gryffindor table, mouth agape, completely shocked, his breakfast forgotten.

'Oh my God,' he whispered, staring at the article incredulously. But how did they find out? A prefect told Dumbledore? Was it Hugo Pelling? He seemed the type to rat you out the moment he thought something else would be more beneficial for him. Or maybe Gwen? But she warned him against showing off this book. She warned him not to show it to... Hermione? Surely not! She was his best friend, she wouldn't have done that, would she?

'Harry, are you all right?' Ron asked worriedly, looking slightly confused.

'I... I, um, yeah, I am,' the boy replied absentmindedly. 'Let's go to class, shall we?'

The Defence Against the Dark Arts was dreadful, as usual. This time they were copying bits of their useless textbook. Harry kept stealing glances at Anthony, who sat just beside him, but the boy refused to meet his eyes. He had a suspicion that the Ravenclaw was furious with him for what happened to Mr Riggs.

'Class dismissed,' Umbridge chirped merrily. 'Mr Potter, stay behind, please.'

With a feeling of dread forming into a heavy ball in the pit of his stomach, Harry packed his books and approached the desk of the tiresome professor.

'Mr Potter, I have been made aware that professor Dumbledore banned you from Quidditch practices and matches. Is that true?' the woman asked, shocking the pupil before her.

'Well, er... yes, it is,' Harry said slowly, unsure of what the toad wanted.

'May I inquire as to the reason for the punishment?' Umbridge's watery-blue eyes shot him a calculating look. Oh yes, she definitely had an agenda.

'I... well, I refused to do something he wanted me to do. But it was not in his powers as a headmaster to demand anything like that of me,' the boy replied stubbornly.

'I see,' the woman drawled. 'Well, Mr Potter, I'll have you know that I spoke with your new guardian, Lady Elizabeth Selwyn. She was quite adamant that you be allowed to play. I will be speaking with professor Dumbledore, as it is obvious that he has no valid reason for banning you from Quidditch, and being the headmaster does not make him omnipotent. He has to abide by rules. Just like everyone else at this school.'

Harry stared at Umbridge in shock. Why was she doing that? What was she to gain from it?

'I... I thank you, professor. But... why?' he stuttered. 'I mean, why are you doing this?'

'Why, Mr Potter, I was under the impression that you enjoyed Quidditch,' she said sweetly. 'Or was I mistaken?'

'I... no! Of course, not. I love Quidditch. I just... I don't understand...' he trailed off.

'Mr Potter, I would have done the same for every pupil at this school. I am here to ensure that the rules are followed. Make no mistake, I will punish you when you deserve it, but I will also protect you, when I see that your rights are being breached. After all, that's my role as Hogwarts' High Inquisitor. But, I believe that you've got a class to attend now, haven't you?'

'Yes, professor. And thank you.'

As the boy left, a broad smile crept upon her lips. It was a smile people usually get upon completion of a very difficult task that is supposed to bring them to the uplands of success. Oh yes, Umbridge's political career would be safe if she only had the support of this boy. And Dumbledore would be destroyed, once and for all.

'Harry!'

The boy spun around to see Anthony chasing after him. 'Anthony,' he acknowledged woefully.

'I take it that you've read the newspaper today?' Goldstein's voice was cold, but not unsympathetic. 'Poor Riggs, nothing short of suicide can save him from a Dementor's Kiss now.'

Harry stared at his friend, horrified. 'I really... I-I have no idea... h-how it happened,' he stuttered. He'd never felt so guilty in his entire life. Because of his carelessness and stupidity a man will now be sentenced to a fate worse than death.

'Well, don't let it eat at you,' said Anthony, clapping Harry on the back. 'It's not really your fault. Riggs should have known better. Merlin... Putting **Magical Potential **on a shelf like that! He would have been dead sooner or later with such an attitude.'

Harry felt that Tony tried to console him, but it didn't work. Why on earth did he tell anyone about this book? He wanted to kick himself.

'It was Granger, wasn't it?' Anthony more stated than asked. 'No one else would have ratted on you to Dumbledore. And the article said that a prefect told him. Only other prefects were Gwen, Hugo and me. Well, Juliette did know too, but she's not a prefect and I'm sure she wouldn't have told on you.'

'I'm afraid so,' Harry admitted. He hated to think that his best friend would betray his trust just like that and go to Dumbledore before confronting him with her problems. Hell, she didn't even tell him that she went to Dumbledore! She just did, behind his back. Harry felt the righteous ire building up in him.

'Anthony, sorry, but I have to run. I need to talk to Hermione,' he excused himself and, with a blessing from his friend, hurried to the library, where he was sure to find the girl.

But Hermione was not in the library. Harry sighed and turned his footsteps towards the common room, but when he couldn't find the girl there as well, he grew a bit frustrated. Hogwarts was far too big for him to roam the corridors in search of his friend. He was just about to go into the east courtyard, when he heard Hermione's voice calling him from behind.

'Harry!' She sounded quite breathless and her cheeks were flushed.

'Hermione, I've been looking for you!' said Harry, a little bit more angrily than he intended. 'Were have you been?'

'Oh, the library mostly. Sorry, Harry,' she replied, slightly sheepishly. 'I was looking for you, too. The headmaster wanted to see you.'

The boy froze. Was it about the book?

'Why did you tell him, Hermione?' he asked desperately. 'You got me in trouble, and the owner of Flourish & Blotts is going to be Kissed. Is that really what you wanted to achieve?'

The girl blushed crimson red.

'Don't you dare accuse me, Harry Potter! It was you who bought the book and this fool of an old man who sold it to you! He was a Dark wizard! They don't deserve to walk around free!'

Harry stared at her incredulously. 'And you're the one to say that! You, a Muggleborn! He didn't do anything bad! That book isn't anymore dangerous than our first-year Transfiguration textbook! But no, of course, you had to go and tattle. Thanks a lot, Hermione. Maybe tomorrow, when you wake up from your daydreaming, you'll understand that you've just sentenced a decent man to _death_!' The last word was snapped spitefully.

Harry was disillusioned. His best friend, a Muggleborn, one who fiercely campaigned for the rights of house-elves and werewolves, firmly believed that the people who upheld the traditions of the wizarding Britain should be punished. The one who faced the persecution herself, was now willing to persecute others in return. Wasn't it how all villains started? Despised geniuses, finally paving their own way.

But Harry, despite having barely acquainted himself with the true wizarding culture, came to love it as his own. After all, it was his own, regardless for how many years he was denied to be made a part of it. He adored the old stories and legends, he enjoyed the literature and ethos of wizards. And he had absolutely fallen in love with their perception of magic. There was nothing that could sway him away now.

With the last disappointed glance at Hermione, Harry left for professor Dumbledore's office. He had a plan forming in his head.

'My boy, take a seat, please.' The headmaster pointed to the armchair in front of his desk. Harry swallowed heavily. Dumbledore's words were soft and kind, but he could see the darkness gathering in his eyes. The man was very angry, indeed. 'Sherbet lemon?' Harry declined politely.

'Sir, I...' the boy was about to begin his explanations, when the headmaster waved his hand to silence him.

'No, Harry. Today I will talk. You will only listen to what I have to say. Do you understand?'

He nodded his head, slightly confused.

'I was contacted by professor Umbridge, who informed me that I have apparently no right to deprive you of playing Quidditch without giving a valid reason. As you probably understand, I could not give her the reason why I banned you from the team. You are therefore reinstated, however, mark my words, I am greatly disappointed in your behaviour.' Dumbledore, with a smug look upon his face, saw Harry's low-hanging head. He was certain that the boy was ashamed for his actions and would be coming to him soon, repentant. Maybe even by the end of the conversation, if he was lucky. Albeit, here he was mistaken. Harry let his head drop to his chest only to hide a self-satisfied smirk that spread upon his lips.

'There is, however, a different matter that needs to be discussed. The book you bought in Diagon Alley. I realise that it was not your fault, after all it should have never been available in that shop in the first place. I must insist, however, that you hand it over to me. It's illegal and dangerous.'

Harry frowned and pouted at these words.

'Why? There's nothing bad in that book. It was very interesting, actually!'

'Oh, I appreciate that you find this gibberish to be fascinating. Most young and impressionable people do. Still, it remains illegal and is therefore prohibited on the school grounds,' Dumbledore explained patiently, but it was clear that he was rapidly losing the last bits of self-control.

'But, professor, I...'

'As I said, the book is illegal,' the headmaster interrupted. 'It must be destroyed. No one is allowed to possess a copy. It's a one-way ticket to Azkaban. I request that you bring it here, before I will be forced to act in the name of the welfare of all my pupils and go look for it myself.'

Harry stared at Dumbledore, open-mouthed.

'But I... I burnt it, when a friend told me that I shouldn't be reading it in public because it was dodgy and...'

But he didn't get to finish his defence.

'Harry, I may not be able to remove you from the Quidditch team, but I certainly do have the power to lay you across the old flogging block. I believe that this power still remains with the headmaster of this school. Now, you either give me the book and stop blatantly lying to me, or deal with the consequences of disobedience.'

'What!' Harry screeched, horrified. 'You're lying. You have no such powers. I know that physical punishments have not been used at Hogwarts for something like twenty years now!'

'Exactly. They have not been used because I never wished to use them. There's nothing that says that I can't use them if I see that a situation warrants such drastic measures. And believe me, Harry, if something poses a threat to my pupils, I must act. So, will you be as kind as to retrieve the book from your trunk and bring it to me?'

It wasn't a question. It was a direct order. And if he didn't listen, he would receive the very same punishment that the Dursleys had always threaten him with. They'd say that if he was naughty at school, he would be thrashed. Harry had always feared that if he wasn't a good boy, he would have to bend over the dreadful, scary flogging block in the headmaster's office at his primary school. It wasn't until he was ten that he found out that physical punishment was already outlawed in state schools by that time. But here? Hogwarts wasn't exactly a state school. It was a government-run institution, but as Harry had already realised, the magical world was ruled by different laws than the Muggle one. Could Dumbledore really go through with his threat?

Having no intention to find out, the boy nodded his head and left the office, only to come back with the book in tow twenty minutes later. He wanted to scream with frustration upon seeing the headmaster's victorious smirk.

His plan failed.


	14. Chapter 14

Hi again:) Finally, I'm slowly reaching the more interesting parts of the story. Off to the Selwyns then...

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Chapter 14 - Of Politics and Meetings

When the day of departure for Christmas holidays had finally arrived, Harry woke up early in the morning feeling absolutely horrified. There was a tight knot twisting and turning in his stomach, making him nauseous, which resulted in his normally healthily flushed cheeks turning sickly ashen-grey in colour. From the very moment his eyes opened, at exactly six twenty-three a.m., the boy wandered around the dorms, the common room and the bathrooms, with every inch of his body regretting turning down Dumbledore's offer to study Occlumency, even if it was Snape that was supposed to teach him. After all, as once upon a time some very wise man said, it was much better to suffer the misgivings already known than those that had yet to befall us.

As it were, Harry knew precisely what to expect from his Potions Master. The professor was taciturn and unpleasant, to say the least, but it was a _status quo. _The boy knew that and was able to take precautions, even though it rarely made the lessons any more bearable. However, with Elizabeth the situation was quite different. Despite being his last living, natural, magical relative, the woman was also an heiress to one of the Darkest families in the wizarding Britain. Her ancestors openly practised Dark rituals, belonged to secret, elitist organisations that admitted only the most talented, the richest and the Darkest of the population, and regularly expressed their less than savoury sympathies.

Elizabeth vowed never to hurt him, but Harry remained unconvinced. The look of horror that crossed professor Dumbledore's face each time that Lady Elizabeth Selwyn popped up in their conversations, his insistence that Harry learns Occlumency before departure, or at least grasps enough of the concept to be able to tell when he was being mentally attacked and revert his gaze to break the connection, his desperation and resorting to threats to make the boy realise the dangers; all of it made Harry afraid. Terrified. He knew he was being unreasonable resisting and opting against learning to protect his mind. He realised that Occlumency was a very helpful skill to have, and a nice show-up when picking up girls, but by the time he'd already refused Dumbledore three times and it was a matter of pride and honour for him to continue with his stance. Even when Gwen told him that he was being stupid to deny to learn a potentially useful skill, especially one that could help him with his vengeance-fuelled crusade against Voldemort, he only snapped, 'I won't let Snapper mess around in my mind!'

'Snapper' was a nickname for professor Snape, used particularly by Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and Harry had somehow picked up on using it. It wasn't meant to be rude or vulgar, but a slight ridicule effect was undoubtedly intended. Even those who liked and respected professor Snape used the name.

Harry carefully closed his overloaded trunk and looked at Ron, who sat on the neighbouring bed swinging his legs and staring back at him.

'I believe it's time to go and catch a carriage,' Harry said, sighing tiredly and plonking himself down on top of his packed trunk.

'True.' Ron nodded his head. 'Do you mind if Hermione goes with us, mate? I know that you two don't talk to each other, but I really need her to explain the Transfiguration to me.'

Harry pursed his lips with displeasure, but consented seeing his friend's pleading eyes. He didn't say it aloud, but he planned on visiting Gwen, Anthony, and Hugo sometime during the train ride. Under the circumstances, he would have an excellent excuse to leave the compartment and avoid Ron's nasty remarks about his new company.

Hermione was waiting for them at the bottom of the staircase leading to the boy's dormitory, all ready to go. Harry ostentatiously ignored her 'Hello!' and swiftly went through the portrait hole.

With the carriages as packed as usual, they didn't manage to find one solely for themselves. To Ron's utter distaste, they had to squeeze in with two third-year Slytherins and a fourth-year Ravenclaw. Harry nudged the boy on the side with his elbow, prompting him to behave civilly, and climbed onto the carriage.

'Hello!' he said cheerfully. 'Hope you don't mind us here. Everywhere else is full.' Surprised, the kids shook their heads and returned to their conversation. As Harry's companions remained silent for the entire journey, Ron pouting and Hermione not daring to speak to Harry after he'd barely refrained himself from slamming her against the wall two days before, the boy kept listening to his younger schoolfellows talk. They were discussing the candidature of Lord Oswald Fellowes for the Minister of Magic. All of them, just as Gwen, Hugo and Anthony, seemed to think that the man had many faults but was the best option so far. And it was difficult not to agree.

Lord Oswald Fellowes was a prominent member of Wizengamot and the newly elected leader of the Magical Tory Party, usually referred to as MTP, or MTories. Despite his party having been out of office for the last fifteen years, the failure attributed mostly to its perceived snobbishness, it had gained a better footing under the leadership of Lord Fellowes, thanks to his innovative approach to the electorate, his family-friendly policies, his stance on economy and education, as well as the intention to re-introduce the basic freedoms that the wizarding Britain had been denied by the present Government.

Currently, the Wizengamot comprised mostly of the Magical Front, a left-wing party led by Cornelius Fudge, that had ruled more or less single-handedly for the last fifteen years, promoting a society where all sorts of wizards live together, are given the same chances and equal rights, with a particular care being taken to accommodate Muggleborns and Half-Bloods raised in the Muggle world, and to introduce them seamlessly into the mainstream.

The problem was, Muggleborns didn't necessarily want to assimilate. They brought in their own traditions, they clung to their own culture, and they lacked the understanding of the magical world. The well-meaning Government programme went bust, and with it the rest of the policies. Now, regardless of the much needed educational reform, which came too late to save Fudge's place in power, there was too much social unrest and dissatisfaction, too many rules, too much redtape and state-control, and too much interference. There was no chance for the current Government to stay in office.

And there were many who wanted to use and abuse the situation. The Magical Whig Party had produced a candidate of their own, an incompetent and ridiculous, former WizPop singer, Mrs Aurora Pompington; professor Albus Dumbledore had been actively supporting and campaigning for Mr Kingsley Shacklebot, an Auror and an independent Member of Wizengamot. Unfortunately, the headmaster wasn't in the public's graces at the moment, therefore his protégé didn't stand much chance. There was, of course, the MTP's Lord Fellowes, who seemed to be the nation's favourite, and last but certainly not least, Lady Carol McMoriarty, the leader of the Merlin's Council, the second largest, and the oldest, party represented in the Wizengamot. It rang true then that Cornelius Fudge would have to fight quite a battle if he wanted to stay in office, however unlikely his victory seemed these three months before the planned date for the general elections.

And Harry hoped that Fudge will lose. The boy despised the old Minister, thinking him a weak and easily-manipulated little man, who had nothing to offer the country anymore. Personally, Harry silently fancied the thought of the MTories gaining the majority. Their plans were good and factual, they wanted to scrap the underage magic ban, and their policies on education and economy made a lot of sense.

For some time, he had also pondered Dumbledore's candidate's aptitude for the job, but he was quickly brought back down to earth by Hugo, who said that Shacklebot, as an independent candidate and, arguably of course, a pawn of the much disliked Dumbledore, would face constant opposition, which would most definitely result in him being unable to act in the national interest and exercise his constitutional duties. Besides, as a former Auror, the man had absolutely no experience of politics.

As the Hogwarts Express sped through the countryside, crossed the border of Scotland and England, and hurried through the marshes of Yorkshire, Harry sat in the corner of the compartment he shared with Ron and Hermione. He was reading a book, _**Twelve Most Beautiful Bedtime Stories,**_ and sulking after being laughed at by Ron, who said that these were stories that no self-respecting boy would ever read. His attitude didn't change even when Harry'd explained to him that he wanted to get to know wizarding culture. After all, he had been denied the opportunity of being introduced to these fairy-tales when he was four. Thus, there was a need for him to read them now, as some things are better done late than never. Even Hermione, with all her intelligence and brilliance, couldn't comprehend his desire to fit in. She didn't like the fact that he dressed like a wizard, she didn't approve his choice of literature, and she snorted when he started his subscription to the New Magi newspaper. Not that her opinion mattered to the boy anymore, but deep down, Harry felt hurt. After all, she had been his friend for almost five years, they went through a lot together, and her scorn was the last thing he needed. He knew that he still cared for the girl and, despite the fact that she betrayed his trust in the worst way imaginable, he continued to want to please her. Hermione was one of his first friends, and even if they fell apart, it would remain the case forever.

However, having found no support from his friends in his quest to learn as much of the wizarding culture as possible, Harry carried on, ignoring their scathing remarks. He buried himself in the book. It was fascinating in its own quirky way, with beautiful, handmade pictures and delightful stories. For some reason, this come-back of childhood made his heart lift up with happiness. Having never felt the warmth of a family, having never experienced love in his conscious life, nor having ever had a place he could call 'home', the tales of joyful and careless childhood filled the gap he had in his soul. While reading, he could imagine what his parents would be like, how they would act, how they would praise him if he'd done something good, or sometimes even how they would punish him when he'd done something naughty. It wasn't real, far from it actually, but it helped. There was a little world inside of his head, where he could hide his deepest sorrows, where there were people whom he could tell about his deepest grieves, the people that wouldn't laugh but hug him and say that everything would be okay and he needn't worry. It would feel childish to a listener who had never experienced the same. It would seem ridiculous. Dreaming wasn't real, it could not bring the loved ones back from the dust. But to an orphan brought up in the environment that made him feel unworthy, that made him feel bad and stupid, it was a little haven, where he could hide from the world. To Harry, the saying that the dead people whom we love never go away as long as even the tiniest shade of their memory lives inside of us was a bright beacon of hope and a force that pushed him to go into the world and live his life so that in the end he would be satisfied.

The boy smiled inwardly. He didn't care anymore what Elizabeth would be like. She had to be better than the Dursleys, no matter what.

'Harry?' Ron's voice shook the boy out of his musings. He gazed at his friend just to see a look of worry on the freckled face.

'Yes?' he asked, showing a little bit more annoyance than he had originally intended.

'It's time to go,' Ron replied, still a tad uncertain. 'We've arrived at King's Cross.'

'Oh.' Harry cursed himself silently. He must have really lost it if he hadn't noticed that the train had stopped and there were people rushing up and down the corridor. 'Right. Sorry, seems I have been out for a while.' He attempted to crack a smile, but all that came out was a grimace. 'Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get off. I need to find Elizabeth. Come to think of it, I really hope that she knows what I look like because I have no idea how to find her. All I know is that her hair is dark maroon an that she has blue eyes. That seems to be the Selwyns' trait...' he babbled pointlessly as he took his luggage and exited the compartment. Hermione exchanged looks with Ron. Despite their falling out, she knew Harry for far to long not to notice what was going on. The boy was anxious and afraid. He didn't know what to expect and that was why he acted that way.

The platform was filled with people. The Hogwarts' pupils were walking around, looking for their families who gathered to pick them up from school. After Hermione waved them goodbye and left through the barrier to the Muggle world, Harry and Ron had found the Weasleys and were now standing with them at the far end of the platform, looking around and trying to pick out Lady Elizabeth Selwyn from the crowd.

'She'll probably be dressed in something extravagant and look arrogantly around,' said Ginny, who joined the group a couple of minutes after the boys.

'Not necessarily, sweetheart,' replied Mrs Weasley, though it was certain from the tone of her voice that she shared her daughter's opinion. 'As far as I know, the Selwyns were rarely seen in public, even in the days of their prominence...'

'How generous of you to indulge us with your wisdom, Madam,' said a cold voice from behind. They all turned around simultaneously, startled. There was a woman behind them. A tall, willowy lady, dressed in a long green dress and a silvery-black robe, with an elegant cashmere shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders, who despite being a lot older than Mrs Weasley, looked radiant and beautiful. Her lovely face had some inexplicable hardness to it and her eyes seemed cold and unemotional, but it didn't change the fact that Lady Selwyn could only be described as an embodiment of nobility. And, come to think of it, she had a strong resemblance to the portrait of Marlene Potter, whom Harry had seen during his holidays at Grimmauld Place.

'Harry Potter,' she murmured, her voice rich and melodious. 'It's a pleasure to meet you at last.' She extended her hand which Harry instantly took and shook gently. He missed the stern look on her face, busy staring at his shoes and blushing. There was something dreadfully intimidating about this woman.

All of the sudden, Mrs Weasley embraced him in a bear-like hug, weeping about sending delicate children to some heartless and cruel hags. Feeling embarrassed, Harry gently pulled out and said, 'It's okay, Mrs Weasley. I'll be all right.'

'We must be going, dear, but remember that if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask for help. Just send Hedwig to us, and we'll see to your removal from _her_ care.'

Harry blushed an even deeper shade of crimson, if it was at all possible, and marched towards Lady Elizabeth, pulling his trunk behind him.

'Come, Harry. Let's get you home.' That said, Lady Elizabeth Selwyn took out a crystal pendant from her robe pocket. A moment later, they were whisked off from the platform and landed on a grassy field in front of a grand castle. A castle that Harry had already known so well...


	15. Chapter 15

Hello! Here's another chapter for you, my dear readers:) Thank you for all the nice comments. It really makes me happy to know that my story is appreciated.

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Chapter 15 - The Meaning of Family

It took the boy a long moment to avert his gaze from the stone castle and look at his host. Lady Elizabeth Selwyn stood barely five feet away, her eyes sharp and fixed on her charge. Harry looked down with a sudden burst of overwhelming self-consciousness. He just felt so little and unimportant next to his prominent aunt.

'It's a beautiful home you have, er... Miss Selwyn,' he muttered trying to take her attention off his person, yet unsure of what to call her.

'Yes, the castle is quite lovely indeed. My parents were very proud of it in their day.' A shade of sadness flickered in her face, but was immediately replaced by a mask of indifference. 'You may call me Aunt Elizabeth,' she said kindly. 'After all, we're family now. It wouldn't do for you to call me Miss Selwyn and for me to call you Mr Potter, would it?' Upon seeing him shaking his head, she continued, 'I didn't think so. Yes, let's get you inside and settled. Bonny!'

A young house-elf of a difficult to identify gender appeared in front of them, dressed in a clean, starched pillowcase and leather-strapped sandals.

'Madam wished for Bonny? What may Bonny do for Madam?' the creature bowed deeply, its pointy nose almost touching the ground. 'Oh! And young Master is here, too! How delightful! Bonny's prepared young Master's rooms. They are waiting, warm and cosy, they are!' And the elf bowed once again, this time even deeper, showing Harry the same respect that would normally be shown to the heir of the family. Not that the boy noticed such nuances. He felt warmly welcomed, but nothing more. Elizabeth, however, noticed and looked at Harry thoughtfully.

'Bonny, take Master Harry's luggage to his chambers,' requested Lady Elizabeth Selwyn, pointing to the school trunk that stood beside the boy. 'Unpack it and inform Dotty and Smirt to set the table for two. We'll be dining in the conservatory. Please, make sure everything is ready by the time we get there.'

'Of course, my lady!' the elf squealed, grabbed the trunk and vanished with a soft _puff. _

'Come, Harry. Let me show you to the conservatory.'

The earlier plural reference to his new rooms didn't escape the boy's attention, as he walked behind Elizabeth in the direction of the main entrance. He was about to step inside the castle, when a small, almost insignificant detail made him gasp. There, at the bottom of the castle's wall, was a wide trail of smoked stone. It was evident, even to an unpractised eye, that the castle must have been on fire sometime during its undoubtedly long and illustrious history.

'Harry?' Lady Elizabeth's prompting voice shook him out of his reverie. 'Are you all right?'

The boy closed his eyes, trying to get rid of the painful memories.

'Yes, I'm sorry. Let's go.'

Elizabeth looked at him, confused. Why on earth would the boy stop and stare at the black smudges?

The conservatory was a lovely place. It was big and bright, with citrus trees and exotic shrubs growing in clay pots, and orange flowers' scent swirling in the air. There were mismatched, antique sofas and pouffes scattered all around, some of them newer, some completely threadbare, others looking as if they were put in the conservatory only because of the lack of a better abode. All in all, the place was quirky, but also homey and cosy, which made Harry fall in love with it from the first sight.

At a far corner, the elves had put up a table which was covered with victuals of all sorts, from traditional dishes, such as roast lamb or salmon, to foreign acquisitions, such as extra-hot Thai soup. There were also all sorts of roast vegetables, fresh salads and, mysteriously, liquorice.

Elizabeth sat on top of the table, inviting Harry to take the seat to her right.

'I will show you to your rooms after we'll have eaten,' she said scooping some green salad onto her plate and then asking Harry to do the same. The boy scrunched his nose. He hated vegetables, and lettuce most of all.

'Okay,' he replied, meticulously picking out two small pieces of lettuce and a tiny chunk of tomato. Elizabeth frowned. She was already thinking about how much damage she would have to repair to make a proper young man out of this child.

'Right, we have to cover some ground rules as well, because I do not intend to be running after you at all times reminding you what to do and what not to do. You are old enough to only hear it once.' Here, Elizabeth's face took on a stern expression. 'This is your home, and I would really like you to feel comfortable while you're here with me. You may walk around the castle and the grounds. There are horses in the stables if you know how to ride them, if you don't know, you are welcome to ask me or Tom Shandy to help you. He's a nice boy, just a couple of years older than you. He takes care of the horses for me. You are, of course, welcome to go to the village just outside the estate. It's a magical village, a very beautiful one, but, unlike Hogsmeade, it's a place mostly for family homes, not shops. The whole village belongs to the Selwyn family. There are village playing fields, three pubs, a church and a small prep school for young children. You may want to go to the fields on Saturday or Sunday to meet some boys your age.' Lady Elizabeth stopped to take a few bites of her lamb.

'I didn't know there were any magical settlements aside from Hogsmeade in Britain,' Harry said, using the fact that Elizabeth was busy to express his doubts. Hearing that, the woman made a face as if the food had suddenly gone sour.

'I knew there was a reason for people not to send their children to Hogwarts,' she hissed through gritted teeth. 'Do they teach you anything at this school, at all? It surely isn't the quality it used to be. No wonder many families prefer to sacrifice the last money they have to pay the fees at private schools. I'm sorry, Harry, but the education you are receiving is absolutely appalling. But never mind that now. We'll take care of it another evening. Anyway, yes, there are about a hundred magical villages and five magical towns. Villages usually belong to affluent, long-established families, while the towns are a recent development. After all, we have to live somewhere. Where did you think homes of the majority of the population were? In the Muggle world? Of course not. We have our own places.'

Harry nodded, staring at his plate. It was so embarrassing. Why didn't they teach them these things at Hogwarts? Why didn't they do Magical Geography instead of Divination, for instance? He sighed helplessly and returned to listening what Elizabeth was saying about the rules.

'Obviously, I would like you to tell me if you decide to go to the village, so I will not be forced to run around, looking for you while you won't be here. There is, of course, the matter of your safety. Apparently, Lord Voldemort is trying to...' She stopped, hearing Harry gasp. 'Oh, please, don't tell me that they taught you to flinch at the offending name at that ridiculous school of yours, too,' Elizabeth scoffed distastefully.

'No, it's just... I have never really heard anyone in the wizarding word say his name,' the boy tried to explain his sudden outburst.

'Ah, that. Well, it's not as if he has any power over me. He's a Half-blood, I'm a Pureblood, he's a magical nouveau-riche, I have had magic in my family since before the Roman conquest of Britain. He has to rely on his Pureblood friends to fund his campaigns, I can veto anything he does in the upper house of the Wizengamot. So, you see Harry, I have nothing to fear. Nor have I anything to be ashamed of.'

The boy stared at Elizabeth. That was, by far, the most arrogant and snobbish rant against the Dark Lord he had ever heard from anyone. Yet, it was so true. He grinned, amused.

'Yeah, but then, Umbridge said his name too. She doesn't really have your rank,' he noticed thoughtfully, remembering the time he had received his awful punishment.

'You really need to study some magical genealogy, Harry.' Elizabeth sighed, shaking her head. 'Dolores is a cousin of Tom Riddle. His maternal grandmother, Sybil Ravenwood, of a very prominent family, might I add, was a sister of Victoria Ravenwood, Dolores' great-grandmother. She doesn't really care about Tom, or Voldemort. She's his third cousin, once removed, besides she's a Pureblood.'

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. It made sense. Silently, he finished his roast pheasant and without any enthusiasm began picking at his scraps of vegetables. The green salad looked so unappealing. The thought of biting on it, of it crunching between his teeth and releasing its watery juices onto his tongue made his stomach contort with disgust. He forced himself to swallow it quickly, not wanting to offend his host, and then immediately washed it down with a glass of pumpkin juice.

'Wasn't that bad, was it?' Elizabeth asked sweetly, letting on that she knew perfectly well what was going on in the boy's mind. Harry only stared at her incredulously.

'And this one will be yours,' Elizabeth said, opening the last door on the second floor corridor. 'Here in the front is something that I would call a playroom had you been a couple of years younger. You are welcome to study and entertain guests here. The door on the back leads to your bedroom, and there in another door in the bedroom leading to the bathroom. I hope you like it.'

Harry only stood there, gaping like a fish. The 'playroom' was exquisite. There was some most beautiful, antique furniture, a bit mismatched, but still all of it tasteful and in a marvellous condition, there were shelves stuffed with ancient and also more modern books, there was a spacious bay-window with a place to sit and a picturesque scenery extending outside. Coming through to his bedroom, he saw a heavy four-poster bed with fluffy covers, a grand, beautifully engraved wardrobe and a dressing table with a large bowl, a jug of water, a bar of soap and a couple of towels for morning ablutions. Both rooms had also magnificent, old Persian carpets, that despite their advanced age, likely more than two centuries, still shone with all their glory.

Harry was mesmerised. The state-of-the-art bathroom, with floors made of white marble and walls covered with porcelain tiles, sported a bay-window of its own, which helped to lighten the room. There was a porcelain bathtub with four richly engraved silver legs, and an elegant dressing screen.

'It's... I... Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth. It's more than I would ever dream of,' he whispered, wide-eyed and shocked. It was obvious that the things in the rooms were not new. He could tell that generations of Selwyns have used all of it before. But that was exactly what it meant to be a part of an old family. One had a pleasure of knowing that some great-great-great-grand mother had used the bath one was using now. And for some reason, it was exhilarating. It meant that one _belonged. _

Elizabeth put her hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing it gently, then cupped his cheek in her palm and stroked it tenderly.

'You are my family. My last living family. No matter what. You will always have your home here, and I will always protect you. Believe me, I've lost too many loved ones to give it all up. Ever.'

There was no need to reply. Elizabeth and Harry both knew the answer. The boy needed a home he was denied for fifteen years. He needed a place where he would come back to, where he would feel safe and loved. The elderly aristocrat, whose heart had frozen over after she watched her entire family exterminated over a short period of time needed someone to care for again. She needed someone to warm up the frosty crust that she had built up around herself as means of protection, someone to teach her how to show her emotions again, someone to fill the halls of the old, dreary castle with laughter and happiness, as they were twenty years ago, when her nephew was still alive.

Together, they both needed to heal, they needed to learn to trust each other and act like a family. The road to recovery may be bumpy, the cart may have wobbly wheels, but families pull together, with even better a style than old-school-ties.


	16. Chapter 16

Hi folks! Here's chapter 16 for you:) Thanks for reviewing:)))

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Chapter 16 - Of Shops and Flashbacks

Harry woke up early in the morning, feeling more rested than he had ever had before. Snuggling into his pillows and emitting a throaty murmur of contentment, the boy vaguely remembered Smirt the house elf telling him that the bed was enchanted to be more comfortable and to give a better rest, provided one slept full eight hours. The creature also told him that the spell should not be used by those who enjoyed sleeping in, as after nine hours of continuous bed rest, it could cause drowsiness and nausea.

'Good morning, Master Harry,' said a cheerful, squeaky voice, coming from somewhere close to the window, on which Harry's back was turned. The boy rolled around only to face another of the Selwyns' house elves, the one which he hadn't met the day before. Apparently, it was a female and her name was Dotty.

'It's time to wake up,' the creature continued, drawing the curtains and entering the bathroom. Still struggling to properly open his eyes, Harry heard the sound of water filling the bathtub. A moment later, Dotty emerged from the bathroom and, seeing the boy still in bed, put her hands on her hips and glared at him sternly.

Harry was shocked. He knew from the books he'd read that house elves were often used as nannies and could be quite strict, depending on the family's 'breeding policy', as the book unflatteringly called it, but he'd never really experienced anything short of admiration from a house elf and their newly-discovered authoritarian nature was quite a revelation.

'Master Harry is not spending the whole day in bed. It's already seven-thirty, Master Harry needs to take his bath and have his breakfast, and later Dotty will take Master Harry and show him around the village. Lady Elizabeth would have done it herself had Her Ladyship's presence not been required in the Wizengamot today.'

Harry blinked. The only thing that came to his still dream-fogged mind was, 'Oh!'

Then, before he knew what was going on and had a time to protest, Dotty levitated him into the bathtub, stripping him along the way.

'Argh!' the boy cried disdainfully, trying to hide his nakedness. 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' Harry shouted, feeling angry and humiliated. How dare the little beast!

'Master Harry needs his bath,' the elf replied patiently, as if speaking to a particularly defiant child. 'Dotty's here to help Master Harry bathe and to make sure Master Harry is groomed properly before we leave for the village.'

'I don't fucking care what you're here for!' the boy roared, his face, red with embarrassment, sticking out over the edge of the deep bathtub, his angrily gesticulating arms splashing the water all around the marble floor. 'You have no right to... to do _that_ to me!' Harry carried on, ashamed of even saying 'to strip me naked'.

The boy was about to splash the infuriating elf with as much water as he could manage, when he'd seen the pair of big, brown eyes shine with tears. It was disconcerting, as the first feeling he had was not to continue shouting, disregarding the outburst of emotions of the pathetic elf, but to apologise, hug the creature and say he will never do anything like that again. And it didn't feel like his own reaction. There was something forcing him to finally mumble, 'I'm sorry,' and lean back onto the side of the bathtub, allowing the merry-again elf to wash his hair. The boy shuddered. He already hated the institution of a 'nanny-elf'.

But it wasn't really that bad, Harry thought, tilting his head backwards to allow the creature to massage his scalp more thoroughly.

Later, as he sat in front of his dressing table, feeling ridiculously like a girl who cared too much about her looks, he even thought that he may have overreacted. After all, Dotty had only been kind to him. She cut his hair, with great attention to every detail. In the end, it was about three inches long, with a parting to the left side, and when the elf showed him what to wear for their little excursion, he really felt like a prince of the castle.

Dressed in his best black trousers, a collared shirt and a cashmere jumper, with a beautiful, silvery-blue robe flung over his shoulders, Harry amused himself by walking down the street into the village with his head held high and a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. It was absolutely _un_Harry-like, very arrogant and snooty, but the boy wanted to play, and as the good places go, this one was as good as any to exhibit a little bit of his bad side.

The inhabitants of the village didn't seem to think that his behaviour was in any way odd. They called out to him, greeting him and capping their hats in respect. Apparently, the news of a mysterious nephew of Lady Elizabeth had reached their ears even before the boy in question had appeared in the neighbourhood.

'That's the church, Master Harry,' said Dotty quietly, pointing discreetly to a quaint, sandstone building that stood at the end of the lane. 'Lady Elizabeth likes to come here regularly. She enjoys the music very much. When she was a girl, about fifteen I'd say, she funded a small boys' school just outside the village for choristers that were to sing the services at the church. The villagers are quite proud of the choir. It's not very often that one sees professional, traditional choirs in small villages like this, not often at all. The vicar, the Reverend James Simons, and the organist, Mr Patrick Murphy, are in charge of the church and the choir. They are both half-Squibs, unable to do any big magic, but they have perfectly integrated into life among the normal folk.'

Harry listened to the creature's squeaks intently. He was very interested in the village. It was, after all, his new home. The place was so picturesque and breathtaking, it felt like a privilege to be living here, among the people whose homes had stood here for a millennium.

'Dotty will show young Master to the village green. It's probably where young Master will spend most of his time, anyway. Master Ralph certainly did,' the elf informed him, her voice turning very quiet at the mention of the deceased heir to the name and fortune of the Selwyns, as if she said something wrong.

'Ralph?' Harry jumped at the occasion to find out a little bit more. 'Who was he?'

Dotty's ears flattened down-heartedly.

'Master Ralph was a dear,' she said wistfully. 'Always so kind and loving, such a merry young soul.' The creature's voice turned tender and teary. 'He was the only child of the last Lord Selwyn, Frederick, Lady Elizabeth's younger brother. He died in the awful fire of the castle almost twenty years ago. The poor boy was only fifteen. And Dotty used to change his nappies and watch over him when he was a little baby!' The elf started sobbing pitifully.

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up,' Harry muttered apologetically, trying to comfort the elf by embracing it, but the creature jumped back, horrified, and squeaked quietly, 'Master Harry! What is Master Harry doing! Master Harry should not touch elves in public! That would be disgraceful for both Master Harry and Dotty!'

'Sorry. I didn't know that,' the boy mumbled, embarrassed.

After the emotions have died down a bit, they continued walking around the village. But Harry was lost deep in his thoughts.

Ralph died twenty years ago. In a fire. That proved another one of his dreams to be correct. He felt cold chills running down his spine and a nauseating feeling forming in his gut.

'There!' exclaimed Dotty, her cheery attitude back in place. She was pointing to a huge field of emerald-green grass, with a small rivulet half-girding it, looking like a sparkling, unfastened belly-go-round. At the far end, there was a white cricket pavilion, there were neatly shaven lawns to play croquet and wizarding rugby, as well as a muddy pitch to exercise something that by the look of it resembled the variation of football played at the Muggle Harrow School, but observing the boys who played at the time of their little excursion, Harry concluded that whatever the name of the game was, it was much more dangerous.

'That's Footie, Master Harry,' explained Dotty, seeing his confused look. 'It's a sport played at Grove School. It's one of the grand wizarding public schools for boys only, and five of our villagers go there at the moment. We have had the Footie pitch here, in the village, for almost a hundred and fifty years. Boys love playing Footie, though Dotty really doesn't see why. It's very easy to injure oneself during that game, and it's all soggy and dirty.'

Harry gazed wistfully at the boys playing Footie, imagining himself running across the mud, charging at the other players, knocking them over into the slush, and kicking the heavy ball through the goalposts.

He didn't notice dropping onto the ground to his knees, his eyes fogging over and his mind drifting away, twenty years back in time...

_'Oi! Ralph! Wait!' Harry turned around, knowing precisely that the call was for him. It was Jamie Lovell, running after him, panting, with his chubby face flushed from the cold. _

_'Jammy!' joked Ralph, grinning broadly at his friend. 'What is it? I have to get home, or Emmanuel will tell papa that I have been sneaking out. He's bound to notice if I'm late again.'_

_'Oh, come on, Ralphie!' Jamie's voice was almost taunting. 'You can't do that to us. We were supposed to play Footie after the boys finish school.'_

_Harry, or rather Ralph, sighed, clearly conflicted. 'Okay, but not long. I have to be with Emmanuel in an hour. And if I'm not...' He swallowed heavily. The teacher had been cross with him ever since the last week, when he'd failed to show up for his history lecture, and then, two days later, he sneaked out at night to go flying in the dark with Jamie and George. Unfortunately, Master Emmanuel came to check up on him, on an impulse, as he'd explained, and found the bed empty. It was quite nasty afterwards..._

_The boys chased each other down the road, straight to the playing fields, where another five of their friends were waiting for them. Neglecting the fact that he was actually supposed to be at home, studying, Ralph completely forgot that showing at the house in his clothes dirty with mud will most probably betray his mid-afternoon activities better than even a Veritaserum would. Instead, he removed his outer robe and ran towards to the pitch, where the rest had already been chasing after the ball. _

_It was cold, obviously, considering that it was barely the middle of February, but the boys engaged in the game didn__'__t feel it. There was adrenaline rushing through their veins, causing their faces to flush and the thoughts of anything more important escape into the background of their minds. _

'_Ralph!__'__ shouted Jamie, passing the ball to his friend. __'__Now!__'_

_Ralph kicked the ball as hard as he could and a moment later his entire team was cheering with joy as the ball flew past the goalposts. They won. It was all that mattered. _

_'__Woo-pee!__'__ Ralph cried, jumping up and waving his up-held arms. He tried to ignore the pain that erupted in his foot upon kicking the heavy ball hard enough for it to fly twenty feet above the ground. He would have time to worry about it later. For now, the excitement of winning the brilliant game was far more engaging._

_'Ralph?' Jamie's voice brought him back down to earth. 'Aren't you supposed go to the castle? I thought...'_

_'Holy Merlin's shit!' Ralph cried, looking at his watch with horror flooding over his features. 'Emmanuel's gonna kill me!' _

_The boy grabbed his robe, and ran home, hurriedly trying to fasten all the buttons on the way._

'... Master Harry?' Dotty carefully patted the boy on the cheek. 'Master Harry, what happened? What...?'

Harry groaned, collecting himself off the ground.

'Ralph played here...' he whispered, looking serenely around the village green, fixing his gaze for a moment longer on the Footie pitch, now occupied by around twenty players, all drizzled in mud and with cheeks rosy from the cold air.

'It's okay, Dotty. Let's go see some more,' Harry attempted to console the disturbed elf.

The creature shot him a stern glance. 'If Master Harry doesn't tell Dotty what happened, Dotty will be forced to take Master Harry back to the castle and call for Lady Elizabeth. Dotty will not take chances that Master Harry is ill and tries to hide it.' The elf crossed its arms on its chest and stood firmly in place, tapping its foot theatrically.

'Dotty, please... Can't we just go? I still want to see that corner shop you've mentioned,' the boy tried to convince the elf. But Dotty had raised three generations of the stubborn Selwyns, and was not easily swayed.

'Master Harry was feeling ill. Dotty can't take Master Harry for a walk if Master Harry is not well. Lady Elizabeth would be very angry. Master Harry either tells Dotty what happened, or Dotty will take Master Harry home and call for Lady Elizabeth.'

The murderous expression on the boy's face made it more than clear that he was very eager to strangle the annoying creature at the moment.

'I... I had a flashback. I get them sometimes, it's nothing really important,' he said through gritted teeth. 'Can we go now?'

Dotty immediately brightened. Apparently, all she was asking for was an easy explanation.

'Of course, Master Harry. Dotty will be more than pleased to take Master Harry to the shop. Dotty has Master Harry's allowance. Lady Elizabeth gave ten galleons for Master Harry to spend on whatever Master Harry likes.' The elf extended her hand and dropped ten, glittering golden coins onto Harry's palm.

'Thank you, Dotty,' he said, feeling a bit odd knowing that the money wasn't his own but came from his new guardian. He'd never really got to fully appreciate that in normal families parents are responsible for taking care of all the needs of their children, including the funding for entertainment. But, the time was as good as any to make up for it.

The shop, Mrs Twiggs', was an exquisite place. Small and cluttered, it had an old-fashioned, provincial feel to it. There were shelves and drawers filled with goods, from sweets to proper food, toys, books and small furniture.

Mrs Twiggs herself, unfortunately, died in eighteen-fifteen, but her descendants have done a marvellous job continuing her legacy. Presently, the shop was run by Mr Henry Twiggs and his wife, Wilma. The man would usually care for the establishment, while his wife and son made business in London. Asked about his complacency, Mr Twiggs would usually say that he enjoyed the peace of the village, while his wife enjoyed the hustle of a big city, thus he killed two birds with one stone having Mrs Twiggs do what she liked and having her away, so he didn't have to worry about her moaning if he hung around the village pubs for too long.

Upon entering the shop, Harry had a feeling that he was going to enjoy himself immensely. And right he was.

'Mr Potter!' cried Mr Twiggs, seeing the boy enter with his house-elf in tow. 'What a pleasure! So great a person had so far yet to stand on my humble threshold.'

Harry blushed slightly, embarrassed, but managed quickly to compose himself and reply jovially, 'Mr Twiggs, the pleasure's all mine. I've heard wonders about your shop. I thought that I had to see it all with my own eyes, and I reckon that I was indeed told the truth.'

Now it was the shopkeeper's turn to blush. 'What may I do for you, Mr Potter?' he asked, bowing deeply.

'I'm not sure yet, Mr Twiggs,' the boy replied, glancing around the shop. 'I'd like to look around first, if you don't mind.'

'Oh, but of course. By all means, do so, please.'

And so Harry walked round the aisles, admiring different magical delicacies, like newts' eyes pickled in vinegar and lemon zest, _PowerBalls_, which was a brand name for small chocolate balls containing a variety of fillings of tastes ranging from toffee to snot, and many others. One thing that had particularly caught his attention (for no special reason whatsoever; the appearance had just struck his fancy) was the pumpkin juice. It wasn't as if the treat was of any novelty to the boy. However, what was interesting about it was the bottle. It was elongated, of a peculiar fluorescent blue colour, with a black crown cap and a crooked Celtic-style inscription, _Pumpkin Juice_ in big, orange letters. It looked so disturbingly gaudy that Harry didn't even wonder why the drink would always be transferred to a glass or a jug before being served.

'I'll take three of these,' the boy said, pointing to the quirky bottles. 'And some of the Liquorice Mice. They are not real mice, are they?'

'No,' replied Mr Twiggs, scooping some of the sweets from a crystal jar and slipping them into a paper bag. 'There is the same spell on them that is placed on the Chocolate Frogs. They have about ten feet of a run before the magic ceases, so it's really easy to catch them if they manage to escape. Would you like anything else?' he asked, counting three bottles of pumpkin juice and putting them on the counter next to the old-fashioned till.

'No, thank you. I will definitely use a reason to return here, after all.' Harry smiled charmingly. The shopkeeper beamed.

'Master Harry needs to make some friends,' said Dotty as they crossed the gates of the Selwyn estate. The boy swallowed one of his Liquorice Mice and nodded. He would really use someone to talk to, other than the house-elf.

'Lady Elizabeth's godson, Master Rupert Fellowes, will be coming to the castle when his school gets out for Christmas break. Master Rupert always comes for Christmas to enjoy our fox hunts. Dotty's sure that Master Harry will also be invited. We only need to make sure that Master Harry knows how to ride a horse and stay in the saddle. It would be unseemly was Master Harry to fall off a horse.'

Harry only smiled indulgently, popping another Liquorice Mouse into his mouth.

'I'm quite proficient on a broom. I'm sure I will manage on a horse,' he said, feeling quite self-confident. What he didn't yet know was that horses were _a tad _different than racing brooms.


	17. Chapter 17

Hi! Next chapter here;) I'd like to warn you, religion and education of Harry in this chapter, so beware! Other than that, thank you for your lovely reviews;)) A sneak-peek into the next chapter - Harry will finally have a new friend and a deliquent moment too;))

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Chapter 17 - Of Choral Evensongs and Riding

'You're not being serious!' laughed Harry, both amused and appalled with Aunt Elizabeth's suggestion. 'I'm not going there. That's preposterous. I'm a wizard, not some Muggle bigot!'

Lady Elizabeth squinted her azure eyes, the deep-black eyelashes giving them a dangerous edge.

'I was not asking about your preference,' she said evenly, her voice firm and unwavering. 'I was just informing you that the outfit you're wearing is not suitable for church.'

'And I am _informing_ you that I don't do church. It's not for me. Muggles go to church. Wizards don't,' Harry replied spitefully, but honestly he had no idea if what he said was true. After all, Elizabeth was as much of a witch as one could possibly be. But why on earth would she engage is such a Muggle activity as religion? Do the almighty wizards really need such crap? Was he actually to go to that old church building at the other end of the village, sit in a pew, kneel or stand, repeating these ridiculous words? He didn't even believe in God. What was the point?

'Really?' It was clear that Lady Elizabeth was growing more and more irritated by a minute. 'Then what am I? A lowly Muggle?'

'No! I mean,' Harry started to get defensive, 'I mean that I'm not the kind of a person who goes to church. I just don't do that. Can't you just leave me here and go alone?'

'Harry, I do understand that you hold some grudges, probably from your Muggle experiences. But you can believe me when I say that our church is nothing like anything you've ever experienced. I'll make you a deal, even. You go with me just this one time, and if you don't like it, I won't force you anymore. I just want you to see it. I know that you want to learn as much as possible about the wizarding culture, and it's not possible to know everything if you don't know so basic a thing as our religion.' The woman's persuasions seemed to have a desired effect. At least partially. Harry was still a bit apprehensive.

'You mean to tell me that wizards practise Christianity? After what they had suffered during the Middle Ages?' The boy's voice sounded really sceptical.

'There aren't many _Catholic _wizards, especially not on the Continent. There are some in France and Spain, but on the whole, most wizards practise different variations of Protestantism.' Lady Elizabeth stopped there, thoughtfully debating what to say next. 'There are, of course, Pagan witches and wizards, and many witches and wizards of different religions altogether, but European wizards are still mostly Christians and Pagans. Wizards, unlike Muggles, rarely migrate, therefore there is little or no cultural exchange. The only danger, and a great one too, undoubtedly, is from the Muggle culture that the Muggleborns bring with them into our world.'

'Okay, I'll go to this church of yours. But I can tell you, I will not go anymore if I don't like it. I agree with Marx that religion is the opium for the masses.'

Lady Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up elegantly upon hearing her charge quote the ill-famed Muggle philosopher.

'Very well,' she said, feeling that she'd achieved at least a partial victory. 'But you have to change. I don't want you seen looking like a vagabond. And I would like you to get rid of these Muggle trousers. They are way too tight. It's not appropriate to wear such things in public.'

Staring incredulously at his guardian, Harry only shook his head and left for his rooms to change. The boy opted for his standard wizarding attire of black trousers, one of those he'd bought with Sirius and Tonks when they went to Diagon Alley together in the summer, a shirt and a cashmere jumper. In the end, he 'formalised' it with a wizarding robe on top and, happy with his choice, trotted back to the main hall, where Elizabeth stood, waiting for him impatiently.

She smiled upon seeing him, giving an appraising nod when she'd seen his attire.

'Good,' she said courtly. 'Now, we really need to leave. It's almost five. The service shall soon begin and we better be there.' There was the undertone of 'or else' embedded dangerously in the statement.

Even though it wouldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes to walk down to the church, as the village was only five minutes walk away from the castle, Lady Elizabeth insisted that they take a carriage. When Harry mentioned that it was unnecessary, as preparing the carriage and the horses would take more time than walking, the woman only shot him a pitiful glance and said, 'I do not walk. I have a reputation to uphold.'

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry climbed onto the already prepared, horse-drawn black carriage. To his utter surprise, the interior was really luxurious and comfortable. It was nothing like the stuffy vehicles shown in the old Muggle films. Obviously, there wasn't much space, compared to a modern car, but the walls were covered with periwinkle-blue, silk tapestry, while the seats, sumptuously cushioned and with the same silk upholstery, betrayed the signs of previous usage. As Harry wasn't sure whether it would be rude to ask how old the carriage actually was, he decided that giving it at least one hundred and fifty years would be a rather safe estimate.

'Do you really believe in God?' Harry asked, just as they crossed the gates of the estate, moving in the direction of the village.

'Whatever do you mean by saying "God"?' Came Lady Elizabeth's mysterious reply. The boy seemed confused.

'Well, you know, a bloke, old, with a long white beard, sitting somewhere there, all high and mighty, ruling over the world...' Harry tried to say it jokily, but to be honest, Elizabeth's question had put him off his track.

'No. I don't believe in this Muggle concept of god,' she said slowly. 'Harry, you need to understand, our faith is not about some odd ruler, who sits up in heaven on the throne, lording it over us, lowly human beings. Wizards don't humble themselves like that. Magic is God. It's the most powerful being. It lends you power, but it's for a price. You need to worship it and show it your reverence. Otherwise, it may turn your back on you. For instance, it may stop gracing your family with its presence, resulting in Squib children.' Lady Elizabeth shuddered at the mere thought of something so repulsive. 'It's not about, as you put it, "a bloke with white beard". The whole point of going to church is to experience something awe-inspiring. That's why I've founded the choir. You'll see. The essence of wizarding understanding of religion is the divide between sacrum and profanum, the magical and mundane.'

For the rest of the journey Harry sat quietly in his corner of the carriage. Deep in thoughts, he'd barely registered getting out and entering the church. He didn't say a word even when Lady Elizabeth had taken him to their pew, just beside the choir stalls.

But nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to experience as the introductory organ-playing started.

Harry watched with amazement as a procession of boys and men dressed in identical black cassocks, with white ruffs and surplices entered the church and filled the empty places in the choir stalls. While doing so, they sung a beautiful processional piece of music, something in Latin, which Harry couldn't decipher.

The sound was so amazing that the boy stared at the youngsters, wondering how such a voice could possibly come out of a child barely ten, or even younger. It was like magic, only much purer, natural.

As the Reverend James Simons began the service with the immortal, 'Dearly beloved brethren...', Harry sat in the pew, staring at a small boy, one of the choristers, who smiled merrily, awaiting his turn to sing. The kid was really tiny, but there was no doubt in Harry's mind that if he was a part of this choir he had to be a great singer. The little boy had red hair and a lot of freckles, his face was small and oval, and his chin very pointy.

His musings were broken by the choir standing again. The boy he was observing had a solo to sing. As the first verses of a beautiful song left the child's mouth, Harry started imagining himself in the boy's place.

He'd seen himself, five years younger, with his voice not yet broken, producing the sweetest tunes. He felt something in his throat constrict at the thought that he'd never been given the same opportunity. No one had ever taught him music. He enjoyed the lessons at his primary school back in Little Whinging, and he was quite good at keeping the tune. But he also remembered how Aunt Petunia would screech and even hit him across the head for singing quietly to himself while doing his chores. He didn't dare to sing much afterwards.

He listened, completely engrossed in the music, as the red-haired boy hit the highest notes, not wavering in the slightest. He closed his eyes, allowing the music to take control of his senses, letting it flood all over his body, touching his every nerve. Breathing deeply, Harry could only think that there was nothing more beautiful in the world than a treble voice of a trained chorister.

'Did you enjoy the service?' Lady Elizabeth asked the quiet boy who sat in front of her in the carriage, his cheek glued to the windowpane and his eyes shut most of the time.

Startled, Harry's head shot up, painfully hitting the headpiece of the seat. Massaging his hurting scalp, the boy nodded begrudgingly.

'It was... great,' he said quietly, with a very sad look upon his face. For some reason, there was a really odd feeling that stretched from his stomach up to his throat. Harry couldn't place the unknown emotion, but he was sure it was something between wistfulness, craving and desperation.

Lady Elizabeth only smiled understandingly, allowing the boy some space to think in peace. She knew that he felt overwhelmed. She observed him throughout the entire service and was surprised to see how much he enjoyed the singing. She remembered how brightly his eyes shone when he joined in the singing of the hymns. Even if Harry didn't know that yet, Elizabeth had enough experience to discern that producing music and listening to it made the boy happy. That knowledge would help her in the future.

The horse-riding lessons, as Harry had decided, were a real pain. It wasn't as if he was _that _bad at riding horses. No, on the contrary. He felt that if he was only allowed to take a horse and just go with it, he would have done beautifully. After all, controlling the animal wasn't much more difficult than controlling a broomstick, and the whole riding thing was not much different than sitting on a hippogriff. Buckbeak was a really gentle creature when Harry had first sat on its back and flew around Hogwarts. Lokki, Lady Elizabeth's favourite mare, was just as gentle and easy to handle.

But no. He had to bear Tom Shandy's lessons. And they were absolutely dreadful.

'Sit up, boy!' Tom shouted for the nth time this afternoon. Groaning, Harry did as he was told, sending the young man a dirty look.

Tom was currently twenty five years old and worked for the Selwyns just as his father had before him. He was a horse-lover, who won many prestigious prizes in his teens, but never very studious, which made him a destitute, but talented rider by the age of seventeen. Lady Elizabeth decided to take him in to work in the stables to help him fund his studies of magical equines.

'You'll be soon joining a traditional hunt!' Tom shouted again, disregarding Harry's pained and bored expression. 'You can't slouch in the saddle. It's not some Muggle amateurish event. It's a real, magical fox-hunt. Pay attention, kid!'

An hour later, when the sun had already set and the green fields were covered in darkness, Harry dismounted Lokki and, massaging his aching bum, returned to the castle.

'How was it?' asked Lady Elizabeth, seeing the boy enter the family dining room.

'Dreadful,' he replied tiredly. 'I mean, what's the point of these lessons? I already know how to ride. I don't need this twat breathing down my neck and telling me to keep my back straight and molest the saddle. Honestly!'

'I told you to address others with respect,' admonished Elizabeth, her eyes squinted with displeasure.

'No, you told me to _address others with the respect they deserve. _That's a difference,' muttered Harry, taking the fork and ravenously attacking his roast lamb. 'Okay, okay, I'm sorry,' he corrected quickly, seeing his aunt's expression.

'As you should be,' she said sternly. 'If I hear you say that again, you'll be writing Georgics as a punishment. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded, feeling embarrassed. 'What on earth is this _Georgics _anyway?' He remembered it being mentioned in one of his dreams, but he didn't know what it was then either.

'Georgics...' Lady Elizabeth smiled fondly. 'My nephew used to hate it. And he used to get quite a lot of it. I dare say that by the time he was twelve he'd known his Virgil by heart.'

'Yes, but what is it?' Harry pressed on, not liking the words 'Virgil' and 'punishment' in the same conversation.

'It means that if you call anyone else some awful name again, you will be copying five hundred lines of Virgil's Georgics. We have a special punishments book somewhere in the castle. My brother, Frederick, his son, and my nephew, Ralph, and myself, of course, all have written our Georgics in there. There's still enough space for you to write yours, so watch yourself. And I'm warning you, they may sound easy, but the whole thing can be really arduous and destroy your plans for the next few days.'

Harry swallowed heavily, hearing Elizabeth's voice turn stern and unforgiving. He really wasn't looking forward to writing Georgics. He'd seen it in his dreams, once. Ralph was writing it in his room for sneaking out at night. The boy was swearing rudely under his breath and pulling on his hair with frustration. At the time, Harry thought that Ralph had just been assigned lines to write, but now he managed to connect the dots.

'May I go to my room?' the boy asked, taking the napkin off his lap and crumpling it on the side of his still fully-stocked plate.

'You haven't finished your supper,' replied Elizabeth, taking a sip of red wine from a crystal goblet. 'Once you'll have eaten, you may leave to wherever you please.'

'I'm not hungry,' Harry mumbled, taking up his fork and picking at his runner beans.

'Oh, don't be ridiculous,' Lady Elizabeth bridled at his childishness, clearly irritated. 'You've been riding all afternoon, you must be hungry. Eat, or you're going to be sitting here until breakfast. I will not have you going hungry just because of your infantile tantrums.'

Harry looked scandalised.

'I don't have infantile tantrums!' he said disdainfully. Nevertheless, seeing his Aunt's look, he took up his fork and cut off some of the lamb with its edge.

'Put the napkin on your lap and use a knife to cut the meat,' Lady Elizabeth admonished further. 'And stop acting like a fool. If you intend to annoy me, I may promise you a day with Virgil in your rooms tomorrow.'

Harry let the air squeeze through his gritted teeth angrily. Glaring at Elizabeth, he ate quickly what was left on his plate and, upon receiving a nod of agreement, stomped out of the dining room.

'Dotty!' Lady Elizabeth called out just a moment after the boy left.

'Madam wanted for Dotty!' The excited house-elf appeared just before her. 'What may Dotty do for madam?'

'I would like you to go to the library an retrieve the copy of Virgil's Georgics along with the old punishments book. Put them on the desk in Master Harry's drawing room. I feel we shall have a need of them soon. The boy clearly needs some discipline.'

'Dotty will do as Lady Elizabeth asks.'

'Good. You are dismissed.'


	18. Chapter 18

Hi folks! Sorry for the long wait again. I've been having a rather tough time at uni lately, with lots of essays and translations, leaving almost no time whatsoever for other things. That said, I do apologise for any glaring errors in this chapter, I didn't have time to read it thoroughly so I just skimmed it to remind myself what it was about;) Do tell me if you spot anything particularly appalling, I promise to correct it the next chance I get.

Thank you everyone for reviewing so nicely! xoxo boys&girls

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Chapter 18 - Of Fellowes and Escapades

The next day, Harry woke up early in the morning, hurriedly scrambled out of bed and went straight to the bathroom before Dotty had a chance to come and help him. He filled the bath with water and, as it lacked a shower, dived a couple of times to wash his hair. By the time the elf appeared, he'd already been washed, dried and dressed, ready to go and face the day.

'Master Harry!' Dotty beamed at him. 'Dotty wasn't expecting Master Harry to bathe on his own. Has Master Harry washed his ears and neck too?'

The boy stared at the elf apprehensively. 'Yes,' he replied shortly.

As he entered his drawing room, Harry noticed the Virgil's book lying on his desk along with some terribly thick and mouldy tome. He eyed the volumes warily, but then only shrugged his shoulders and left for the dining hall for breakfast.

Through the windows, he could see that it was going to be a sunny, yet chilly day. Running through the cloistered corridors towards the west wing of the castle, Harry felt the frosty, refreshing breeze on his face. A perfect day for flying. Smiling to himself, the boy decided to take his broom to the playing fields after breakfast. He missed flying very much.

'Harry!' Lady Elizabeth's melodious voice bore only kind tones. Apparently, she'd decided not to mention her annoyance from the day before. The deciding factor for that may have been the presence of a guest with whom she seemed to be in an animated discussion just a couple of seconds ago, before she'd seen her ward.

'Meet Rupert Fellowes, my godson,' she introduced the newcomer.

Harry shook the boy's hand, scrutinising him all the while. Rupert was slightly taller than himself, maybe one or two inches at the most, he had a lanky physique and longish, dark-brown hair. And his handshake was very firm and steady.

'Hello, Harry, it's nice to meet you,' the boy said, performing one of his trademark charming smiles.

'Likewise,' replied Harry, sitting at the table and starting to pile food onto his plate.

'We were just discussing the news, Harry,' Elizabeth explained their previous activity. 'It's quite curious, actually. Who would have thought...' She shook her head, wondering what had swung the moods of the wizarding society enough to cause such a change of heart.

'Sorry?' asked Harry, not knowing what she was talking about.

Rupert chuckled, good-naturedly. 'Remember Mr Riggs, of Flourish and Blotts?' he queried, waving the front page of The Daily Prophet. Harry nodded. How on earth could he ever forget that?

'Well, people are rallying in front of the Ministry, in Diagon Alley, in Hogsmeade and in a couple of other villages, protesting against "unfair and mediaeval laws that threaten the stability of our society"' the boy quoted directly from the newspaper. 'Seems that good, old Riggs still has a chance to get free.'

Harry stared in shock at the other boy.

'Really? That's great! I mean, I thought that after that book... that he could be... well, you know what I mean.'

'Yes, the law clearly states that usage, possession and distribution of anything of a Dark nature shall be punished by the Kiss,' explained Elizabeth. 'And normally, Riggs would have been tried, and most probably also charged, with all three of them. But, as the law hasn't been reviewed since sometime in the nineteen twenties, I believe, and the idea of banning the Dark magic has sprung sometime during the Enlightenment, people feel that it's outdated and mediaeval. And make no mistake, Harry, had you been of age, you would have been tried too.'

Harry swallowed his bacon heavily. It was really disconcerting to know just how close he was not only to expulsion from Hogwarts, but also to imprisonment.

'Can we go to the rally?' asked Rupert, suddenly very excited.

'No, unless it's in our village,' said Elizabeth sternly. 'I may allow it then. But you will definitely not go alone to London or anywhere else. It's not safe. Some people might protest peacefully, but there will always be louts who'll use any occasion to spread mayhem.'

Rupert's enthusiasm had visibly fallen. 'Okay, then.'

'I'm going flying after breakfast,' said Harry. 'Do you want to come with me?' He offered, hoping for some decent company. It would be nice to associate with a fellow human being, not only the infuriating elf. And the fact that Rupert was his age and probably shared his interests was only the icing on the cake.

'Sure. Maybe we could play footie, too?' Rupert asked hopefully.

'We need more people for that,' said Harry, remembering the large teams that played in the village green at the time of his tour.

'Oh, there's bound to be someone playing in the village.' The boy waved his concerns away.

They finished their breakfast in silence. When they had finished, Lady Elizabeth rose from her seat and said,

'I must be off to the Ministry. I hope that you two can amuse yourselves without breaking havoc.'

She shook her head seeing the broad grins that spread on the boys' faces. Sighing, Elizabeth bid them good day and left in a hurry.

'So, what are you really doing here?' asked Rupert, as the two boys picked up their broomsticks and headed towards the playing fields.

'Well, Aunt Elizabeth is my closest magical relative. She's taken over my guardianship, as otherwise it would have ended quite nasty for me,' Harry replied, unsure whether he should tell the boy the entire truth.

'Nasty, how?' prodded Rupert. As Harry was about to find out, the boy wasn't much into subtleties. At least, not when it came to satisfying his curiosity.

'Well, Voldemort has resurrected himself with my blood,' Harry explained. 'Thus, he's made himself closely related to me and could try to request for my guardianship to be transferred over to him.'

Rupert whistled. Voldemort's return to the world of the living had been quite a shock for him a couple of months ago, when his father, David Fellowes, had come back home from work and told him the news. Apparently, the lifelong friendship with Lucius Malfoy had paid off, ensuring that he was well-informed despite the Ministry's denial. However, Rupert would never have guessed what the repercussions of the Resurrection Rite would possibly be.

'That's really big,' he said thoughtfully. 'Do you know what would happen if that information ever reached the media?'

'Yeah, I can imagine. Well, anyway, time to fly!'

With the last exclamation, Harry jumped onto his broomstick and soared into the sky.

'Catch me if you can!' the boy yelled, for the first time in months feeling fulfilled and carefree. He sped around the castle, and over the lake, touching the icy-cold, glimmering water with his fingertips. He didn't care much about the fact that Rupert was following closely behind and could see his sentimentality.

'Woo-pee!' he cried on top of his lungs, which made the other boy roar with laughter.

'Watch the trees, Harry!' Rupert shouted after him, as he flew towards the forest. He laughed even more when Harry had shown him the rude hand gesture.

'I wanna play footie!' Rupert whined jokily, speeding up his broom to catch up with Harry.

'Okay, let's race to the pitch!' Harry shouted, stirring his Firebolt towards the village.

'You're on!' Rupert hollered back, accepting the challenge. The fact that Harry's broom was faster than his own didn't seem to dissuade him in the slightest.

'No way! You cheated!' Rupert pointed his finger at Harry accusingly. 'I've never lost a race!'

Harry grinned. 'Well, there's always got to be the first time. I, for one, have never given in to a house-elf before I came to live with Aunt Elizabeth.'

'Merlin's beard! Don't tell me that she still has the charm on Dotty!' Rupert couldn't stop laughing. 'That's ridiculous,' he said, holding onto his broomstick for support as he bent in half from laughter.

Harry blinked, confused. 'Charm? What are you talking about?'

The boy stared at him incredulously. 'Don't tell me you didn't know? Oh, you didn't. Well then, let me enlighten you. Nanny-elves have a charm put on them. It makes the kids want to obey and feel really bad if they do something wrong. It's for the protection of the elves as well as to help to enforce the family rules upon the kids.'

Harry sat on the grass, dumbstruck. It explained the bathroom incident from the first morning he'd spent in the castle.

'Really? How do you go around it?' Naturally, the boy concluded, if there was the way to do something, there was also a way to undo it. Or, at least, a way to go around it.

'You don't, not really.' Rupert sighed. 'My parents modified the charm on our nanny-elf, so it no longer wants to bathe me every day, but it still gets really annoying. Especially when you swear.' The boy made a sour face. 'But, thankfully, the older you get, the less time you have to spend with those detestable creatures. And, of course, it gives you a reason to take it out on them later.' He grinned maliciously, making Harry laugh.

'Okay, let's go join the team. I'm sure they won't mind. They seem to be missing five players anyway.'

Footie was... fun. It was definitely fun, Harry thought, as he shook the hands of the players on the opposite team thanking them for a great game. They lost, but it didn't matter. He felt oddly elated, being covered in mud from head to toes, and pleasantly tired from more than an hour of playing.

'Let's go for a drink,' Bertie, or Albert Rowles, said when they finished wiping the slush off their clothes. Still, they looked like soldiers emerging from a bombed trench.

They all nodded in agreement and, to Harry's utter surprise, headed off to a small grove by the river instead of one of the pubs in the village.

'Rupe, why are we going there?' he asked, uncertain. 'Wouldn't it be better to just go to a pub? The Old Wench, or whatever?'

Rupert smiled indulgently. 'Just wait a mo', Harry. You'll see.'

Objecting no longer, Harry followed the other boys down the grassy field. When they finally reached the small grove, Harry noticed that the place was already prepared to accommodate parties of young people who preferred not to squeeze into an overcrowded pub, but rather spend their days outdoors. He was about to find out that it was not the only reason.

Torrin Rowles, brother of Bertie, who was sixteen and the oldest of the group, took out a miniaturised, old-fashioned, leather bag from his pocket and enlarged it with his wand. Harry was a bit surprised that the boy was actually using magic outside of school, but put it down to the fact that there were probably heavy protections around the village.

'_Pumpkin juice _for everyone,' Torrin said tauntingly. He passed around the gaudy bottles, grinning like a maniac. Rupert laughed for a reason Harry did not understand.

'You use these awful bottles to hide it in? Come on, Tor, I know you can do better than that. We use butterbeer bottles at Grove.'

'Yeah, well, it seems more inconspicuous,' the older boy replied, winking.

Now, Harry was completely confused. He picked up the blue bottle that stood in front of him and was about to unscrew the cap when he noticed that it was all crooked and _made of cork. _He raised his eyebrows, but opened the bottle nonetheless. But, unprepared for what was to come, upon taking the first swig of the liquid inside, Harry started coughing and spit the whole thing back out in surprise.

'That's Firewhiskey!' he cried out in shock.

'Merlin, Harry, there's a reason for us to hide it!' Bertie rolled his eyes. 'Be a dear, and don't broadcast it to the entire village. We'd be in deep poo if it ever got out.'

The boy stared incredulously at the bottle, a wide grin slowly developing on his face.

'That's bloody brilliant! How the hell is it that we have never thought about it at Hogwarts?'

The company roared with laughter. 'I bet some of you have,' said Torrin, taking a gulp from his bottle. 'It's just, those clever enough don't really boast about breaking the law, you know.'

'True,' Harry muttered in agreement. 'So, do you do that often?' he asked, trying to change the subject. 'I mean, the game and the _drinking session_ afterwards?'

Torrin snorted. 'No. Well, not during the winter, anyway. A couple of times a month if we're lucky, maybe. Most of us are at school. In the summer, it's a whole lot different.' He smiled fondly, recalling their antics.

Harry took another swig from his bottle. He'd almost forgotten what the liquor tastes like since he'd had it last time during the Ravenclaw party. It tasted good back then, but whatever kind of Firewhiskey he was drinking now, it was a lot stronger. His next sip was a tad more cautious, which didn't go unnoticed by Rupert.

'Don't worry, Harry,' he whispered. 'This stuff is hard, even for me. These thugs may like to drink it, along with brick-coloured tea, but honestly, it's not of a very good quality.'

Harry only nodded and set the bottle aside. He'd noticed that Rupert didn't drink much either.

'You said you go to Grove School, right?' Harry asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence between himself and Rupert. Torrin and Bertie busied themselves talking with the two scruffy-looking boys who played with them and then joined in the party. 'What is it like?'

Rupert grinned wolfishly. 'Depends who you are and how you behave,' he replied mysteriously.

'Meaning?' Harry prodded. He decided that as Rupert asked him all the personal questions before, he wouldn't begrudge him answers now.

'Well, it's quite a class-ridden school,' he admitted. 'But it has nothing to do with your social class outside of school. Not at all. It's just, depending on what you do, what sports you play, and what clubs you join in, and how popular you are, you may be treated in different ways. For example, I row for the school team. Not to boast, but it's the most prestigious thing that you can possibly do. So, I get to be treated like a star, especially during regattas. On the other hand, we've got Tobey Lockey-Smarmington, whose father has made a fortune in manufacturing of some sorts. Tobey is a horrible snot, always banging on about himself and his wondrous daddy. But he's pants at sports and he smells, so it's dangerous to get near him after around the third lesson, when he starts to reek the most. I think he would use a lesson in hygiene, but unfortunately we don't have them, even for those who desperately need them. His housemaster has given up on him, too. But Tobey pays his fees and crams everything, so they keep him. He's won some prizes for the school in Latin and Ancient Runes competitions.' Rupert took a sip of his Firewhiskey, pulling a face at the taste of it.

'Argh... Yuk,' he muttered quietly, glancing at the Rowles' brothers to see if they were watching. He didn't want to get on the bad side of the two thugs on their territory. Especially when he'd only had Harry as a backup. The boy seemed nice, but he didn't know him well enough to instigate fights in his company. 'How in Merlin's name can they drink it?'

Harry chuckled understandingly. 'So, basically, Grove is like every other school, isn't it? I'm on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts and we get treated like celebrities too. Well, I get treated as a celebrity regardless,' he returned to the conversation on schools, sounding bitter towards the end.

'Oh, come on, Harry!' chided Rupert half-heartedly. 'You are famous. Use it. You could gain influence at the Ministry, you could meet many important people. You could do great in politics. You just need to make the right acquaintances and socialise.'

Harry sighed, unsure. He didn't know if the life on the spotlight appealed to him.

'I don't know, Rupe,' he said. 'It's just... The Ministry's just a bunch of idiots.'

Rupert shook his head, taking another gulp of his drink, his features twisting in disgust.

'No, the _current_ Government is a bunch of idiots. We need my uncle to win. Really. If Uncle Oswald becomes the Minister of Magic, we will be much better off.'

'Why do you keep drinking it when you clearly don't like it?' Harry asked, smirking. 'And Lord Oswald Fellowes is your uncle? Really? How close?'

'Well, not as close a blood as Aunt Elizabeth, but we're quite a closely-knitted family. There aren't that many of us anymore. And I drink it, because we have nothing better. And I'm thirsty.'

'We could go and buy something in the village. At Mrs Twiggs'.'

'Nah,' Rupert waved his hand dismissively. He stood up abruptly, and shouted at the other boys, 'Hey! We're running out of time! How about some drunken singing and going home?'

'Are you drunk enough?' Bertie yelled back, flinging his arms in the air. 'I can't sing when I'm sober.'

'Oh, don't worry your pretty head,' said Rupert slyly. Harry made a face. Bertie was everything but pretty. 'Come on, Harry. We'll show them how the nobles sing!'

'I don't know, Rupe, really. I can't sing...' But he didn't get to finish the sentence. He was hauled over to the middle of the clearing and given a hearty pat on the shoulder. 'I'll start,' said Rupert charitably. 'You'll be next.'

And he started, dreadfully off-key, a rude song to the tune of _Rule, Britannia!_

'When Mary first at Joey swung, Her bonnie tits that like stars did shine...' he hollered, causing everyone to cover their ears.

'Merlin's rotten balls!' cried one of the thugs, whose name Harry did not know. 'Drop it, mate! Nobles, my arse...'

'What, don't you like my singing?' Rupert asked sweetly with a dangerous glint in his eye. 'I bet you'll gonna love Harry's. Come on, Harry! Show them, lowly miserables. Show them that we are better. After all, all this blood has to have some uses.'

'Rupe, honestly, I hate singing in public. I don't want to...' Harry tried to make his way out.

'Oh, come on! Right, repeat after me, "When Mary...",' the boy started his song again, but seeing that Harry wasn't following, he put his hands on his hips, looking exactly like Dotty. Harry couldn't stop himself and burst out laughing.

'What are you laughing at?' Rupert asked suspiciously.

'Nothing. You've just reminded me of someone when you took a poise like that.'

Rupert snorted. 'Come on. Sing. I want to hear it. "When Mary first...". Oh, come on, Harry!'

'I don't know this song,' the boy said, hoping to avoid singing at all. Rupert goggled his eyes hearing that.

'You've got to be kidding me! You don't know _Rule, Ye Titties!_ And I thought that Hogwarts was a good school, at least for the important subjects.'

Harry shook his head.

'Well, never mind that. You must know some other songs. What do you usually sing at the parties in that Gryffindor House of yours?'

'Err... Nothing?'

'Impossible! The whole partying boils down to singing in the end!'

'Oh, okay. Just don't laugh. I really don't know how to sing.'

Having succumbed to the peer-pressure, Harry observed as the smiling Rupert returned to his seat on a trunk of a tree. The four other boys had also turned their attention to him, wolf-whistling to cheer him on.

But Harry had no idea what to sing. There was a vacuum in his mind, that seemed to have sucked out all the songs he'd ever known.

'Really, Rupe, I have no idea what to sing,' he admitted, turning slightly to face the other boy. 'I don't know any songs.'

'Just make something up,' said Rupert impatiently. 'Really, Harry, it doesn't matter. We use public singing at Grove as a practice for future public-speakers. It gives them a good grounding and strips them of fear. You should do that too. You're the Boy, Who Lived. You're bound to be forced to speak publicly at one point or another.'

'Dammit...' Harry muttered, standing in the middle of the clearing and feeling really stupid. The boys began chanting his name encouragingly, but it failed to have the desired effect. 'Okay,' he said, raising his hand to stop the cheers. 'Let's see... How about a nursery song?' he asked lamely, eliciting a long booing from the audience. 'I thought so. Right. I know a song. But it's not really something fancy. Just something I've heard on TV in the Muggle world. It's a traditional Irish drinking song.

'_As I was ridin' over the far famed Kerry mountains,'I met with Captain Farrell, and his money he was countin'.'I first produced me pistol and I then drew me sabre,'Saying: "Stand and deliver, for I am a bold deceiver!".'Musha rin um du ruma da, _

'_Whack for the daddy-o,'Whack for the daddy-o, _

'_There's whiskey in the jar.'_

'Holy Merlin's knickers!' cried Rupert a moment after Harry had finished. 'That was bloody brilliant. Where the hell did you learn to sing that well? I recall you saying that you couldn't sing at all!'

'Erm...Well, I kinda just do that. But I still don't like to sing in front of people,' replied Harry, feeling a blush threatening to creep over his cheeks.

'Then you're lucky you're not at Grove,' said Rupert. 'We have choir auditions first thing when we get to school. The best are asked to sing in the chapel choir. Well, to be honest, they are _required_ to sing in the choir. So, I bet that if you went there, you'd have to sing too. I was ditched thirty seconds into my auditions, with my horrible singing and all, but really, you'd be Master Walley's star. He's the choirmaster, by the way.'

'Well, I don't know... I'm not particularly into music.' Harry was still unsure.

'You should be, mate,' said Bertie very seriously. 'You could even do magic with that voice of yours.'

'Bertie!' Torrin hissed angrily, slapping his brother across the head. 'We have to go now, but really Harry, great performance.'

'Rupe?' said Harry to gain attention of his new friend as they lay together on the grass in the Selwyn Castle's gardens. It was a bit damp and cold, but they didn't seem to mind.

'Mmm?' Rupert mumbled, gazing lazily at the sky.

'What did Bertie mean when he said that I could do magic with singing?' he asked, hoisting himself up into the sitting position.

Rupert's eyes flung open, as he looked at Harry calculatingly.

'It's Dark Magic, Harry,' he said finally. 'You shouldn't be asking me that. Normally, a wizard could take offence when asked such a question.'

Harry snorted. 'Oh, please. We've just drunk Firewhiskey together. And we're both underage. I know that you have nothing against breaking rules.'

Rupert raised his eyebrows. 'Well, being caught doing Dark Magic is _a little _more dangerous than being caught drinking,' he said, as if he was explaining it to a five-year-old.

'I know that. Just, can't you tell me? I swear I won't tell anyone.'

The boy sighed and sat up by Harry's side. 'Bertie was talking about the Magic of Music. Only the most skilled singers can usually pull it off. It's based on rituals which you have to sing to get the results. It can be really powerful, but not many wizards actually know how to do it. And, of course, you'd need materials to learn the proper songs from. I've heard that on the mastery level you can just sing a lullaby and put people to sleep so deep that they die. Almost like the Draught of Living Death, but here they actually die, not only seem to be dead. But it's very difficult, and as it's a practical magic, you'd need a teacher to learn it from. Look in the library if you want to learn more. I don't know much about the Magic of Music, for obvious reasons. But I bet Elizabeth could find you a tutor if you want to train.'


	19. Chapter 19

Hi again! Next chapter for you. Thank you for reviewing ad liking my story:))

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Chapter 19 - Of Balls and Girls

Although he'd known him for just a couple of days, Harry couldn't help but be inspired by Rupert Fellowes' _laissez-faire _attitude to life. Things that would have made his best friends, Ron and Hermione, put out and offended for days managed to elicit only raised eyebrows from Rupert, the prime example being the boy's indifference towards name-calling, egoism and rudeness. Harry couldn't even imagine Hermione's reaction if he'd said to her, 'Hermione, you twat, get your blooming arse over here!' He was absolutely certain there would be a litany of indignant cries, a lecture about respect and a silent-week, when the girl would try to 'punish' him for his audacity. Assuming, of course, that she didn't take permanent offence and didn't stop talking to him altogether. But, Rupert couldn't care less. It wasn't uncommon to hear the two boys running around the castle, shouting at each other, swearing like troopers, or sometimes giving one another a sound punch, just to get their respective points across.

On top of that, Harry couldn't comprehend how one could possibly be so _relaxed. _Whatever Rupert did, he reeked of arrogance, but for some reason, people just clung to him and licked his boots each time he spoke to them. The Twiggs' would always give him discounts at their shop, the girls of the village always wanted to do something for him, and when they were caught stealing sweets from the pantry at the castle, Rupert managed to talk them out of getting punished by making Dotty feel so guilty about it that the poor elf burst into tears and popped out of existence.

And again, Rupert, just now, had been trying his charm on two village beauties, Jenny McMoriarty, a niece of Lady Carol McMoriarty, the leader of the Merlin's Council Party, and Beatrice Walkers, one of the twelve children of James Walkers, the village drunkard. The latter was definitely not to the snooty Rupert's tastes, as Harry was well aware of, but the girl seemed only too happy to be a subject of interest to a fine young gentleman, even if she had only had half of the said gentleman's attention. And she was a marvel to behold, with her soft golden ringlets and angelic face.

'Harry!' shouted Rupert, looking over the pretty girls' heads, his eyes pleading to be rescued. Harry smirked sadistically.

'Yes?' he asked, faking incomprehension. 'Is something the matter?'

Rupert squinted his eyes, silently promising the other boy eternal suffering.

'Aren't we supposed to be at the castle? I believe we have a ball to get ready for,' he said, knowing precisely that Harry had no desire to go to the wretched party; after all, he hated official balls with swarms of very important people.

'I suppose,' the boy replied, resigned. 'Sorry, girls. Our aunt is giving a ball for some Ministry people. We have to go.'

That said, Harry pulled Rupert out of their embraces and waved them goodbye, never doing without an ironic smile, though one somewhat blanched by the sour look that was caused by his reluctance to go to the ball.

When they were far enough for the girls not to hear them anymore, Rupert swatted Harry on the back of his head.

'What the fuck, mate! You were supposed to take them off me!' he complained.

'Ow! What the hell was that for!' Harry massaged the aching spot, punching Rupert on the shoulder in return. 'I was just giving you time to enjoy yourself!' he said, and ran for the castle, with Rupert following closely behind and using some colourful vocabulary to explain what he thought of Harry's thoughtfulness.

'Where on earth have you been!' screeched Lady Elizabeth the moment they entered through the doors. 'The guests will be arriving in two hours! You have to get ready! Quickly, quickly!' She kept speaking loudly and hurriedly, herding them towards their bedrooms.

'Dotty!' Elizabeth cried, pushing Harry into his chambers. The elf popped out of the thin air immediately. 'Please, assist Master Rupert. Get him ready for the ball,' she ordered. Rupert discreetly scrunched his face. He knew better than to show his displeasure, especially when Lady Elizabeth was in such a state.

'Into the bath with you, boy,' she said, pushing Harry towards the bathroom, when she was certain that Rupert would be taken care of. 'I can't believe that you have waited so long! You know how important this evening is! Now we have less than two hours to get you ready!' She moaned, as she turned the taps on and told Harry to wash himself quickly but thoroughly, while she rummaged through his wardrobe to find his tailcoat and other essentials.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry emerged from the bathroom, squeaky-clean, wearing his fluffy bathrobe, his hair dripping of water.

Lady Elizabeth scrutinised him with a critical eye.

'Good. Now, let me do something about that mop of yours. Honestly, I can't believe that they don't teach grooming spells anymore.'

That said, Elizabeth slashed her wand across the air twice, creating a wind that dried Harry's hair, but also managed to make them ruffled and messy. The woman tut-tutted, annoyed. With another wand-movement, this time a more relaxed and fluent one, his hair slowly arranged itself elegantly, with a nice parting on the right side. Thankfully, as Harry noticed in the mirror, it didn't look as if a cow had licked his head with its huge tongue. No, it was a natural smart-boy look, but without looking old-fashioned and overly brilliantined.

'Thanks,' he said, exploring his reflection. It really looked good.

'Now, get the clothes on. We don't have time.' Lady Elizabeth pointed to the pile on his bed. Harry wanted to tell her that they had not even taken an hour so far, but he could see her anxiety and agitation, so decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

'How do I look?' asked Harry, exiting the bathroom and swirling around to give Elizabeth a better view. His aunt smiled earnestly.

'Couldn't have been better had Tittu himself dressed you,' she replied.

'Tittu?' the boy repeated, confused. 'What's tittu?'

Lady Elizabeth sighed in exasperation. 'Not what, but who. Tittu is one of the most famous fashion designers.'

'Never heard of him, to be honest,' Harry said, scratching the back of his head.

'No wonder. You were brought up by Muggles.' The woman made a sour face. There was no question as to what she thought of Muggles and their ways. 'Tittu is a famous British fashion designer. Well, it is also a brand established at the beginning of the seventeenth century by Timothy Theodore Tumpington, hence Tittu, from the initials. Nowadays, his descendants provide the services, most notably, James Barnaby Tumpington. And everyone calls him Tittu.'

Harry nodded, signifying that the much appreciated explanation had sunk in.

'Well, shall we go, then?' he asked cheekily. 'I recall you saying we had no time.'

Elizabeth shot him a death-glare.

While walking down the corridor in the direction of the ballroom, they met with Dotty and Rupert, who, judging by the look on his face, had some murderous thoughts cruising around in his mind. But Harry had soon realised that he needn't worry, as the boy's usual cheery attitude had restored itself the moment they entered the ballroom.

The place was still empty at this time, but Harry knew they were about to receive instructions as to the appropriate behaviour during the party. He seriously doubted whether Rupert needed any of that, as the boy was surely a veteran at any sort of social function, but Elizabeth had apparently decided to treat them as if they were both ignorant of basic etiquette. Rupert didn't bother to hide what he thought of such treatment. The look of utter boredom on his face spoke volumes.

'I want you to interact, Harry,' Lady Elizabeth said in a no-nonsense kind of voice. 'The people who are coming will want to meet you, so this will also be your grand chance to make some acquaintances. Rupert, you must stay with Harry at least until he feels enough at ease to manage by himself. Please, refrain from flirting with young Miss Fudge. She'll be here in lieu of her father and I don't need a scandal at my hands.'

'Does that mean that I can flirt with whoever I want apart from her?' asked Rupert, raising his eyebrows, clearly indicating that he was amused.

Elizabeth squinted her eyes.

'No, that means that if you won't promise me now to behave accordingly, your official excuse for missing the party will be bed-rest due to dragon-pox,' she replied threateningly. 'It's not a school ball. I will not have a bunch of hormonal teenagers running around, blemishing the tradition of which our family has been proud to be a host for three centuries. This Christmas Eve Ball will be as successful as any of its three hundred and twenty-five predecessors, and you shall make sure of that!'

'Okay, okay!' Rupert said quickly, raising his hands defensively. 'I won't try to socialise with your guests. At least, not too much.'

Elizabeth sighed, but hearing the rattle of hoofs on the gravel and the crunch of the carriage wheels, refrained from any more arguments. After all, the guests were much more important.

Harry sat at the table, completely exhausted, with Miss Georgiana Roselynn, a girl of excellent credentials for being a so-called upper-class twit. Miss Georgiana was beautiful, with silky black hair, tied up in a perfect French pleat, rosy cheeks and sweet dimples. She was a little plump, but that didn't change the fact that she looked like a princess in her periwinkle evening gown. From the very beginning, Harry had been mesmerised with the girl's beauty and her soft manner. She looked so innocent and delicate, yet seemingly unaware of her attributes. Despite Rupert's warnings that the Roselynns were not the company he would want to keep, he decided to dance with Miss Georgiana. And she took interest in him. Harry was quite proud of himself, as she was by far the prettiest girl at the ball. Of course, it wasn't until a bit later that he came to dearly regret it.

Having danced with Miss Georgiana the first three dances, Harry excused himself, as he was aware that, as a host, he was obliged to dance with more than one person. And the girls were waiting, literally. Having got the knack of the waltz, the boy was a bit annoyed when they'd changed the music, first to the volta, which he had no idea how to dance, and then to the minuet, which also required a greater skill. In the end, he decided that the quadrille would have been far too much, so he sat down and waited for Rupert to finish. Of course, the blasted boy had to be good at everything.

That was when Miss Georgiana had joined him. Not that he minded at the beginning; after all, he was still sure that he'd caught himself the best lass available. Missing the pitying glances Rupert and his partner, Lady Olivia Holloway, were sending his way, Harry started talking with Miss Roselynn. But... He blinked a moment later, completely lost. The girl babbled and babbled about... herself. She talked about her dress, about her pony, that her beloved papa bought for her from an old wizard when he was travelling around the Middle East; then she changed her repertoire to Lady Morgan's hairdo, that she considered cheap and disgraceful, and Miss Braddock's coat that she'd seen while the other girl was leaving her carriage, and which was apparently very _haute couture_ and far too much for a simple Roxton village girl like Miss Braddock.

'Miss Roselynn, if you'll excuse Mr Potter...' Rupert's expectant voice sounded from behind. Miss Georgiana scrunched her delightful face, clearly annoyed.

'Mr Fellowes,' she acknowledged, giving her hand forward to be kissed, which, of course, Rupert pointedly ignored. He was not about to treat the girl he'd hated since they had been introduced at the fragile age of eight as if she was a lady. 'What would you possibly want with Mr Potter?' she asked, pursing her lips. 'We've had a fascinating conversation.' She nursed her turned-down hand.

'Oh, I bet you did,' said Rupert, not bothering to hide his hostility anymore. 'I'm afraid he has better things to do than talking with you, Miss Roselynn.' His voice dripped of contempt. 'My uncle, Lord Oswald Fellowes, has been itching to meet him for some time, so if you'll excuse us...'

That said, Rupert grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him from his chair. 'Come on, let's get away from her,' he added silently, but not silently enough for Miss Georgiana not to hear. Her eyes darkened.

'You'll regret that, Fellowes!' she said angrily, and stomped off in an unknown direction.

'You didn't have to be so rude to her, you know,' Harry muttered, a bit embarrassed to have treated the girl in such a fashion. 'Not that I don't appreciate the rescue, but well, you know...'

Rupert only sighed, shook his head and proceeded to lead Harry through the crowd. Lady Olivia Holloway joined them mid-way, and then they carried on to the table where Rupert's uncle was seated among the most important guests. Apparently, Harry and Rupert had their seats there too, due to being the members of the hosting family.

'So, this is the renowned Harry Potter,' said Lord Oswald Fellowes while shaking Harry's hand. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, young man.'

'Thank you, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you, too,' the boy replied, his cheeks colouring slightly. After all, it wasn't every day that one met people of such merit.

Lord Oswald Fellowes was tall, of sturdy build, and a bit pot-bellied. He had rather short grey hair and, unlike many wizards Harry had known, was cleanly shaven. There was an intimidating air about him, something that made him a figure of undimmed authority, even in this room that was filled with important people.

'Take a seat, lad,' the man pointed to the chair just next to himself. 'Tell me, please, what do you think about the educational reform the Ministry decided to introduce at Hogwarts? Is it any good?'

Harry didn't miss the political motive of this question. He decided to be as diplomatic as possible. After all, it never paid off to alienate potential allies, but one had to be careful when dealing with people for the first time.

'Well, much has changed,' he said, sieving out the colourful epithets he'd gladly call some of Umbridge's crappy policies. 'To be honest, I'm not much of an objective observer, but so far only the playing fields were a faultless idea.'

Lord Fellowes smiled shrewdly, probably already thinking how to turn this information to his advantage.

'All right,' he said kindly, probably not wanting to push Harry too much. 'Well boy, have you got any plans after you finish school? You know, it's very important to realise one's own potential early enough to build upon it.'

'I'm not sure.' Harry attempted an impish grin. 'Well, I thought about many things, like being an Auror, or maybe doing some field jobs. Really, I have no idea.'

'I don't think Lady Elizabeth would be happy were you to pursue either of them,' the man said slyly. 'It's a respectable vocation, to be an Auror, but really, Harry, wizards of your status go to university first and then seek independent co-operation with the Ministry, or engage in politics. Some, those with the Gifts, sometimes do more eccentric jobs, but as you can probably imagine, the Gifts are not at all common.'

'I'm not too sure about politics, sir,' Harry replied, twisting his face. 'I don't think I'm made for that.'

Lord Fellowes chuckled. 'Indeed, my boy, not all of us are. It's quite a peculiar business. But have you thought about...'

It was nearly midnight and Harry could feel how his eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. He wasn't particularly used to staying up that late, preferring to spend nights in his comfortable bed rather than up and about.

He picked uninterestingly at the piece of chocolate cake that lay at the plate before him. It was tasty, but as his stomach was already turning and moaning from the overload of sweets, begging him to give it a rest, Harry pushed the treat away and only stared at the people swirling on the dance floor.

'Hello, Harry.' It was Lady Olivia, as tired as he was, plonking herself on the chair next to him. 'How's your evening so far?' she asked, closing her eyes and leaning backwards. She sighed tiredly.

'Not bad,' the boy replied, scrutinising the girl before him. He couldn't help but think how ordinary she was, at least compared to Miss Georgiana Roselynn. She was very tall, taller than himself for sure, but her build wasn't delicate at all. She was relatively slim, but sturdy. Her Celtic-red hair hung loosely around her head and shoulders; it was frizzy and seemed a bit too much on the unkempt side. And she was dreadfully freckled, not to mention her long nose and odd movements.

'Well, it was nice to talk with Lord Fellowes, at least until he left the party. One would have thought that someone like Lord Fellowes would stay longer.'

Lady Olivia chuckled, good-naturedly. 'I think that he has a lot of social functions to attend, especially during the Christmas Season. He probably has another ball tomorrow and wants to look just as fresh.'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, you're right, probably. And he has a campaign to get on with, hasn't he?'

'True,' Lady Olivia agreed. 'Did he say anything interesting? He's known for… erm... well, to use his own expression, "taking youngsters under his wings."'

Harry snorted. 'Yeah, he was trying to advise me regarding my future career.'

'Oh, he'd want to do that.' The girl laughed. The sound was surprisingly pleasant and melodious. 'I bet every politician, especially a party leader, would want you for their party.'

'I told him I'm not much into politics. And then he started to go on about those weird people with gifts and about university courses, telling me which are the most respectable ones. Really, my head is bursting.'

'He mentioned the Gifts? Really?' Lady Olivia seemed quite astounded. 'Wow. Maybe he was alleging to you grandmother? After all, it's a common knowledge,' she mused, confusing Harry even further.

'My grandmother?' he asked, not-so-subtly demanding clarification. 'What gifts did she have?'

'You don't know?' the girl looked shocked. Having been brought up in a wizarding household, where traditions were duly observed and respected, she didn't expect to meet anyone (and Harry Potter of all people!) who wouldn't know a thing about their family.

Meanwhile, Harry was getting irritated. 'Well, of course I don't!' he snapped. 'I wouldn't have asked otherwise.'

Lady Olivia stared at his face for a moment and then burst out laughing.

'What's so funny?' Harry asked, annoyed.

'Nothing. I'm sorry. It's just... The situation's really ridiculous. I know more about your family than you do yourself. Well, just so you know, your grandmother, Countess Yekaterina Feodorovna Lopukhina was a very talented Sono Witch. Lord Fellowes might have been alluding to this fact.'

'Sono Witch? What on earth is that? And what kind of name is that? Was she even English?' Harry's head was spinning. Really, people could be weird.

'She was Russian. Well, her family was Russian but she was born in London, eight years after her family fled Russia because of the Revolution in the Muggle world. She was killed in nineteen eighty-nine. No one knows how or by whom. She was found dead in her bed. She's buried in the catacombs of the Potter Castle. Some say she died of some foul disease but we don't think it's true. Oh, and Sono Witch or Wizard is a witch or wizard that's proficient in the Magic of Music. Illegal these days, but very powerful. Maybe Lord Fellowes thinks that you've got the chance to learn, though really, it's very unlikely to do unless one has been trained as a musician from an early age.'

Harry swallowed heavily, a hot feeling spreading through his body. His grandmother...

He thanked Lady Olivia Holloway for her delightful company, excused himself and left the party. He needed to think.

Oh, what a night, thought Harry, as he placed his head on his soft pillows and allowed Dotty to tuck him in. It didn't matter to him how childish it was. He was far to tired to do it himself. Besides, what were the servants for if one was too ashamed to use them? Closing his eyes, the boy could only think about the presents he would receive in the morning and hope that the ones he had chosen for his family and friends would be just as much appreciated.


	20. Chapter 20

Hi folks! This chapter is very short but it's a sort of interlude. Just a look at things from a different angle. Hope you enjoy it.

Thank you for all the reviews. You're great!

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Chapter 20 - Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

Christmas Eve Anno Domini nineteen ninety-five was not a particularly happy day at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sniffling, Molly Weasley was making mince pies, once in a while wiping her runny nose with her sleeve. She was so used to the idea of considering Harry Potter to be her own son that the thought of him not being home with her and the others for Christmas was filling her with great sorrow. And to make the matters worse, she kept being painfully alert as to the company the poor boy would be keeping. At the moment, Molly Weasley wanted nothing more than to stab the carving knife she was using right through Lady Elizabeth Selwyn's frosty heart. Assuming, of course, that the old hag had a heart to begin with.

The memory of Lady Elizabeth at the platform at King's Cross crept surreptitiously into Molly's mind. She remembered her slim, willowy figure and radiant face. Snorting, Mrs Weasley, a devoted mother of seven, thought how much money the wench must have wasted to look younger at seventy-six than she did herself, being twenty years her junior. Of course, there was also the fact that Lady Elizabeth had never been married, never had children, and never had to work a day in her life.

Angrily wiping away another wave of snot that had threatened to drizzle over the dough, Molly began to form tiny leaves and stars to decorate the tops of the mince pies. She wanted them to be as pretty as possible when she sent a batch to Harry. She was certain that the old hag would never lower herself so much as too cook, and however skilled her elves had been, they would never amount to what an experienced cook could offer with their homemade pies.

Molly finished decorating the last pie and stacked the just baked batch for Harry in a Christmas-themed cardboard box. Very carefully, she transferred one pie after another, making sure that when they reached the boy they would still be in an immaculate condition.

She smiled, very pleased with herself, and just as she began to tie the box to the leg of Errol, her family owl, her least favourite person in the whole house entered the kitchen.

Sirius Black, looking rather grumpy and dishevelled, with sleep still present on his features, slowly put the kettle on and lazily measured two teaspoons of coffee into a large mug. Molly's features twisted in disgust. She couldn't comprehend how anyone could possibly enjoy drinking something so revolting as the black, bitter liquid with atrocious dregs on the bottom. Levelling Sirius with a stare, Mrs Weasley sent Errol on his way, now beginning to worry whether the elderly owl will reach Harry in time. Berating herself for not sending the treats earlier, the woman took to seasoning a succulent piece of lamb. After all, Christmas aside, they needed some supper today, too.

Lastly, Molly prepared a huge tureen of porridge for breakfast for the kids and the Order members, and put slices of toast in the toast rack in the middle of the table. With the last disapproving glance at Sirius, who was now reading the special edition of The New Magi newspaper, _The New Magi On Christmas_, Molly left the kitchen to wake up the kids. As an afterthought, she cast the Stasis Spell on the food before going through the door.

The moment Molly left, Sirius immediately stopped pretending to be interested in the Christmas news, which was all social gibberish anyway, and took out his two-way mirror, second of which he'd given Harry during the holidays. He was a bit put out to have heard nothing from his godson so far, but tried to convince himself that no news was good news. He was sure Harry would have contacted him had anything been amiss.

'Harry Potter!' he said clearly into the surface of the mirror. It glowed a silvery shade of blue and the next thing he was looking at was a messy bedroom, with clothes scattered carelessly around the floor and a couple of pumpkin juice bottles stacked in the far corner. Sirius frowned. Had Harry left the mirror on a bedside table?

'Harry? Are you there?' he asked loudly, but received no response. 'Harry?' he bellowed into the mirror, but then winced and looked over his shoulder at the door as if to see whether Molly had heard him.

'Wha' the 'ell.' A coarse, still sleepy voice of his godson reached him from somewhere to the side of the mirror. 'Sirius!' Suddenly, Harry sounded more awake and Sirius's vision momentarily blurred as the boy excitedly snatched the mirror from the table. He smiled broadly seeing his godfather's face. 'Hello, old man,' he said cheekily, his voice still a bit coarse from sleep.

'Harry! How have you been all this time? I haven't heard from you for ages!'

The boy blinked a couple of times, as if trying to chase away the remnants of sleep from his eyelids, and grinned sheepishly.

'Sorry,' he said, embarrassed. 'It's just... So much's been going on... Really, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have forgotten.'

Seeing Harry repentant, Sirius immediately waved all his misdeeds aside.

'Don't worry, kid,' he said. 'Better tell me how's life with good old Lizzie? What is she like? Have you made any friends?'

'Oh, Aunt Elizabeth's great,' he replied instantaneously. 'And this house is just fantastic. I've been here for a week already but I still haven't seen the whole thing yet. And it's really gorgeous. I've learned to play footie, too. You know what's footie, right?' Seeing his godfather nod, Harry continued. 'Good. Well, so we played it a couple of times down in the village with cousin Rupert Fellowes. He's nice. We'll be going hunting on Boxing Day together. I bet that he doesn't really fancy being my guide, but he said that if he wants to leave me, he'll ask Lady Olivia Holloway to keep me company. She'll be with her father, but she doesn't particularly like hunting, so she should agree to ride in the back with me.'

Harry babbled and babbled about his life at the Selwyn Castle, and Sirius listened, surprised at how much interested he was in the boy's day-to-day activities. By the end of their conversation, Sirius knew what Rupert Fellowes looked like, how different he was from Hermione and Ron, and how different Harry's adventures with him had been from those he went through with his friends. And for some reason, there was nothing more he needed to make his spirits fly than to hear that his godson was finally behaving like a boy his age should. He knew that he should condemn underage drinking, smoking illicit herbs in the old church graveyard, sneaking out at night and Harry's annoyance at being forced to eat vegetables by Lady Elizabeth. It was his duty as a responsible adult. But he just simply couldn't. A broad grin would creep over his features each time he heard about all the teenage antics and discomfitures. And he knew it was exactly because of them being _teenage. _Harry needed to be a child, or rather a teenage boy. Not the Boy, Who Lived, not the Boy In The Cupboard, not the Saviour of the Wizarding World, or whatever other inane titles the world had been bestowing upon him. He shouldn't have to fight Dark wizards, evil creatures or take part in some God-forsaken tournaments. All he needed was stability and security, a place where he could come back to, an adult to take care of his needs and a happy atmosphere of youth. And if Sirius couldn't give him that, he'd applaud anyone else who could.

When they finished talking, Sirius barely had time to hide the two-way mirror in his pocket when Molly Weasley barged into the kitchen, bringing a flock of sleepy and grumpy kids in tow. Ronald Weasley looked by far the worst, with his bed-ragged tangled red mop of hair, robes put on back to front and bare feet. Of the whole party, only Hermione Granger looked presentable. Apparently, the girl managed to wake up early enough to go through her morning ablutions before Mrs Weasley came to kick them out of their beds.

'Hello, Sirius,' Fred Weasley grunted out, dropping onto the seat beside and nicking his mug of coffee.

'Hey!' Sirius bellowed. 'That's mine! Go and make your own!'

But despite trying his hardest, he couldn't get his coffee back, as Fred had it safely out of his reach.

'So, what's the plan for today?' asked Sirius, finally giving up on his coffee, to Fred's immense satisfaction.

'Some of us have chores to attend to,' Mrs Weasley replied crisply, looking pointedly at the youngsters. 'You will probably just lazy around, as usual.'

Sirius pulled a face and resumed reading his previously disregarded newspaper. He decided he will not argue with the annoying woman, preferring to busy himself with something else. After all, a note regarding the annual Selwyns' Christmas Eve Ball was far more interesting than her nagging.

Hermione sat on the sofa in the ground floor drawing room at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, endorsed, for lack of a better reading material, in Sirius's newspaper, _The New Magi On Christmas_. For all means and purposes, the special edition seemed to her like a cross between the Muggle _Daily Telegraph_ and _Tatler_. It was clearly meant for the upper-echelons of the wizarding society. The columns were full of mindless stuck-up chatter about aristocracy and the parties and balls they would be hosting during the Christmas Season. Apparently, Harry's aunt, Lady Elizabeth Selwyn, was about to give a ball that very evening. Hermione's features twisted in disgust as she read on about the rank of the event and the prominence of the would-be attendees. On this front, she was in with Mrs Weasley. Upper-class twits and their privileges could go and hang themselves. She was all for absolute equality - equal rights, equal distribution of goods, equal access to knowledge, and so forth. People should never have a right to something purely because of the circumstances of their birth. Or be denied that something, as a matter of fact. It was just not right. The girl snorted, remembering the book Harry gave her to read. And an illegal book, too! And the balderdash that was written in there! Good Lord, the author claimed that she, a Muggleborn, would never be able to become an animagus! As if! She was the brightest witch of her generation. Top in every class she was taking at Hogwarts. Certainly more skilled than scores of her mediocre pureblood contemporaries. But no, some idiot believed her to be inferior on the grounds of a misconceived theory that as a Muggleborn she'd never amount to the level of magic of a pureblood. Hermione snorted again, turning the page of the newspaper only to see a picture of the smiling Lady Elizabeth Selwyn, giving an interview about her sought-after Christmas Events, the Christmas Eve Ball and the Boxing Day Hunt. Hermione frowned. Hunting was barbaric. She'd never condone killing animals for one's own selfish amusement. And apparently, the renowned hunt relied strongly on the use of hounds, which was even more violent. Really, forcing the poor dogs to tear a fox apart! It was nauseating. She was certain that after she left Hogwarts, she would get a job at the Ministry of Magic and campaign strongly against those atrocities. Hermione didn't have a plan of action as of yet, but she was resolutely determined to see cruelty and inequality eradicated once and for all.


	21. Chapter 21

Hi folks! SO sorry I'm failing in my promise to update every other day. And just for the record, I said every other day, not every day; still, I'm failing and I'm really sorry for it. I'll try to do better!

That said, thank you for all your lovely reviews! You're great, even though I'm failing you...:((

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Chapter 21 - Of Dogs and Ire

On Christmas morning, the inhabitants of the Selwyn Castle were awoken by the heavy pounding of raindrops on the windowpanes. Rivulets of water were running down the drainpipes, making a horrible ruckus, disregarding the need of the lowly humans for sleep and rest.

Groaning tiredly, Harry forced his leaden eyelids to open, feeling a burning sensation exploding behind them. 'Good Lord,' he muttered, clutching his head, his voice still coarse from sleep. One look at the ancient clock that hung on the wall was enough to make him roll around and, with a loud moan, cover his head with a pillow. Unfortunately, the annoying banging did not cease, forcing the boy to sit up on his bed and run his fingers through his already ruffled hair.

'Dotty!' he called out into the nothingness. The elf popped up immediately, its face bright and happy, eager to serve.

'Master Harry wanted for Dotty?' she asked cheerfully, enjoying being useful.

'Yes,' the boy replied. 'Could you bring me some hot chocolate with amaretto and crushed almonds? Pretty please? The last time you made it, it was gorgeous.'

Harry batted his eyelashes at the suddenly sternly looking elf.

'Master Harry didn't have breakfast,' said Dotty, pursing her lips. 'Dotty won't bring Master Harry sweets if Master Harry neglects to eat proper meals.'

The boy just sighed. It was worth a try… He knew better than to ask Dotty to break the schedule of the day. Aunt Elizabeth had clearly stated that there would be no sweets before lunchtime, and especially not before breakfast. In practice, though, the only time he was likely to get something sugary was at teatime, or on Sunday, unless he went with Rupert illegally to rummage through the pantry. And Dotty, being a rules-freak, would never bend or break any. Well, she would, the boy had to admit silently. Rupert was able to make her do anything. But Rupert was not with him at the moment, and Harry lacked the charming nonchalance that the other boy possessed in abundance. He realised that he still had loads to learn until he would be ready to really face the world and be able to get everything that he demanded.

'Could you bring me some toast, then? Before you bring me the chocolate?' Harry tried his luck once again.

'Master Harry needs to go to the dining room to get anything,' said Dotty with a stern quality to her tone. 'Lady Elizabeth requested Master Harry's presence in the family music room at nine, when Master Harry and Master Rupert will open their presents and sing carols with Her Ladyship, as it has been happening in the Selwyn family for generations. Master Harry has time to get ready for breakfast, which Master Harry will be having in the family dining room together with Master Rupert at exactly eight thirty, and afterwards, Master Harry and Master Rupert shall both join Lady Elizabeth in the family music room.'

'Right,' said Harry, sighing and throwing himself back onto the pillows. He closed his eyes and tried to relax.

A moment later the sound of water filling the bath reached his ears. Apparently, Dotty decided to start on the morning routine. But Harry had no wish to get up yet. He still had at least an hour until breakfast and wanted to have a bit of a lie-in. Murmuring contentedly, the boy snuggled into his pillows and dozed off before the tiresome house-elf had a chance to get out of the bathroom and call for him to get up.

Stepping back into Harry's bedroom, Dotty immediately noticed things that were not as they were supposed to be. After all, she'd had more than eighty years of experience and spotting everything that was off had become her second nature.

She frowned at the clothes and rubbish scattered carelessly around the floor. There were empty pumpkin juice bottles stacked in the corner, colourful fudge wrappings, and something that she knew used to be a crystal bowl full of chocolate and cherry trifle barely two days ago and by all rights should be residing under the Stasis Spell on the shelf in the pantry, where she'd left it exactly on the morning of the day it was stolen.

With a ruthless smirk, shooting a quick glance at Harry's sleeping form, Dotty began to tidy the room up, making a dreadful noise, banging things against each other. Her smile grew wider as she heard Harry's muttering and cursing.

'Master Harry!' Dotty's scandalised voice carried like a sound of a particularly nasty case of untrained bell-ringers. 'That's…! That's deplorable!'

Managing to sit up, Harry took only a moment to realise what the annoying elf was talking about and it made his face turn first white with dread and then pink with embarrassment.

Dotty, with all her thoroughness, picked up the rubbish scattered around his room and, unfortunately for the boys, had stumbled across the bottles of what in the days of yore must have been pumpkin juice, but two days ago, when he and Rupert had been drinking from them, contained a much… harder liquor. Harry winced and his eyes widened as he observed the elf bring the bottle up to its nose to sniff at the spout. An angry look crossed her face.

'Master Rupert!' Dotty screeched and snapped her fingers. To Harry's utter surprise, the boy came tumbling out of nowhere straight onto his bed. Still entangled in his bedcovers, Rupert landed on the bed, hitting Harry on the face with his fist that the sudden change of an abode turned loose.

'Ouch!' Harry cried indignantly, clutching his nose and hitting Rupert back on the shoulder.

'Merlin's rotten…!' Rupert rubbed his sore muscles and stopped the vulgar phrase from leaving his mouth just in time to see Dotty charge on them both; verbally, of course.

'Master Harry and Master Rupert are the most irresponsible, the most unreasonable and the most naughty boys Dotty has ever had to watch over!' she screeched on top of her little lungs, making the boys cover their ears at the unpleasantness of the sound.

Rupert looked around, disorientated. For a second he seemed genuinely surprised, but the moment his eyes lay on the gaudy bottle that the elf was holding his expression changed to one of a dawning comprehension. And he felt like smacking himself. How could they be so stupid and forget to clean up after themselves? Dotty was bound to find the bottles and be alarmed by the smell. _Shit. This was going to be difficult._

'Dotty? What's the meaning of this?' he tried to sound authoritative. After all, she was supposed to listen to what he said. The fact that Dotty was a nanny-elf and was acting _in loco parentis _was lost on him at the moment.

'Master Rupert should better explain himself!' the elf cried angrily. 'And Master Harry should better help! Dotty's waiting to hear an explanation. And Dotty is certain that Lady Elizabeth will be very interested to hear about the contents of the bottles! Firewhiskey, of all things!'

Rupert winced and made a face. That tactic was not going to work. He was already thinking about another way out when he heard Harry speak and his hopes of getting out of the situation unscathed suddenly died, murdered in cold blood by his blasted cousin.

'Dotty, we…' Harry stopped abruptly, seeing Rupert's murderous look. But a moment later he gathered his courage and continued with his explanation. He wanted to wink at Rupert to communicate to him to hide his pained expression and play along, but knew it would look far too suspicious. Dotty wasn't _that_ daft.

'Err… We found these bottles in the grounds and I thought it would be brilliant to teach Rupe how to play "Spin the Bottle". You know, it's a Muggle game… and it's fun. Really, we had no idea that anyone who used them before us put alcohol in them. After all, our noses aren't as sensitive as yours. And besides, who in their right mind puts firewhiskey in pumpkin juice bottles?'

Harry tried to summon the most innocent face he could. He smirked, seeing Rupert nod vigorously.

Dotty looked at them suspiciously. 'Dotty will be bringing the matter up with Lady Elizabeth for consideration,' she said finally, keeping up her stern demeanour. 'Master Harry and Master Rupert should get up quickly. It's nearly time to go to breakfast. Shall Dotty bring Master Rupert's clothes to Master Harry's bathroom, so Master Rupert doesn't have to go all the way back to his chambers?' Dotty offered graciously, despite Rupert's chambers being exactly opposite Harry's.

'Please,' Rupert muttered, disentangling himself from his sheets and getting up from the bed. The moment Dotty disappeared, the boy said, 'We're screwed, Harry. Aunt Elizabeth will never go for your lame excuse. Let's just hope she won't find out before tomorrow's hunt. Would be a pity to miss it.' Rupert stretched lazily and murmured with pleasure. 'On the other hand, I think that you may just have saved us from having to write the damn Georgics.' The boy smiled and strutted off to the bathroom.

'Oh, brilliant!' Harry heard him exclaim, probably upon seeing the already prepared bath full of water and bubbles. 'You've got it all set and ready!'

There was the smell of Christmas in the air. It was spicy, fruity and 'chestnutty'. Harry revelled in it on his way to breakfast, during breakfast and later, when he walked towards the music room. He and Rupert entered the chamber, attracted by the sweet, sorrowful tones of the pianoforte.

Lady Elizabeth sat there, playing one of her favourite carols. Harry didn't know it, but was informed by his cousin in a carrying whisper that Aunt Elizabeth would play it every year at Christmas.

The boy lost himself in the lovely music. It was beautiful in its own wistful way, filled with sorrow and suffering, but when Lady Elizabeth hit the final notes there was a grand burst of joy and power.

'What are you waiting for, boys?' the woman asked, turning away from the pianoforte. 'The presents are not going to open themselves!'

Rupert and Harry didn't need any more encouragement. They ran over to the large pile of presents and started ripping the wrappings to see what was inside. Ten minutes later, Harry was a proud owner of a new marble set of wizarding chess from Anthony, _**Encyclopaedia of the British Magical History **_from Gwen, to which she was kind enough to attach a note warning him against showing up back at school without having read these _exceptionally boring _books ('Ten volumes! She's barking mad!'), a weird stick with a bulb on top of it from Hugo ('What the hell is that? Looks like a wand with an onion stuck on top.'), a batch of exquisite mince pies from Mrs Weasley, a book on the most dangerous but useful Quidditch manoeuvres from Ron and a selection of prototype jokes from the Weasley twins and Ginny.

He put aside the bag of lozenges of which the blue half, as Fred and George explained, was supposed to cause a fever high enough to get one sent to the Hospital Wing and avoid a day of lessons. Apparently, they were still struggling with the part that cured the induced illness.

_But don't worry, Harry! You can always sneak one of those into someone's drink (dissolve like a dream at dawn, we're told!) and make them miss lessons. Do us a favour and fix Ronnie a nice cuppa, will ya? _

The boy snorted at the attached letter and put it on top of the temporarily discarded bag of sweets. There were still three gifts left for him to open.

'Take the red one first, Harry,' urged Rupert chewing on a bit of toffee that his schoolmate's mother had sent him along with some strange jewellery.

Seeing no harm in following his cousin's advice, Harry ripped the red wrapping paper only to be greeted by the sight of a small old leather suitcase. He opened the lid and stared at the contents.

'I…' he stammered, unsure what to say. Rupert and Elizabeth stood at the either side of him and put their arms around him.

'Don't look through it here,' said Rupert. 'It's a private matter. You can take it up to your room and see the contents later.'

And Harry knew that the boy was right. The contents were too personal.

'Where did you get these things from?' he asked in a pained voice.

'Let's say, it pays to have the right connections,' replied Rupert, grinning cheekily. Harry snorted with laughter.

'Right,' he said, picking up another present, this time one wrapped in a periwinkle blue paper with a golden ribbon. Feeling no remorse upon tearing such a nice wrapping, Harry took to inspecting the contents. There were five phials of potions and a leather-bound book. The boy opened the volume and after flipping through the pages decided that it was an odd manuscript made of something that looked disturbingly similar to ECG squiggles.

'What is it?' he asked, looking pointedly at Aunt Elizabeth.

'It's a songbook, Harry,' she replied. 'It belonged to your grandmother. I believe it's time to pass it on to you, especially since you've apparently inherited her Gift of Music.'

Lady Elizabeth looked somewhat sad when she said that, but Harry couldn't help but hear a hint of pride deep down in her voice.

'Thank you,' he said, still confused about how to use the book. 'But how am I supposed to sing anything from here if I have no idea what it says?'

The woman stared at him oddly.

'It's Parseltongue,' she said quietly. 'You may have the Gift to speak it, Harry, but it is one of the greatest arts to be able to read, write and sing it. It's something you learn. And I'd like you to learn it, just like your grandmother did. She was a brilliant example that the Gift of Parseltongue is not necessarily something that one has to be born with.' Lady Elizabeth smiled slyly. 'That's why I arranged for you to have music lessons, as you requested, but with a little twist.'

Seeing the boy's gobsmacked expression, she smiled indulgently.

'You'll enjoy it, my boy. Don't worry.'

'What are the potions for?' he asked, twiddling the phials between his fingers.

'That's for you to find out,' Lady Elizabeth said mysteriously. 'You'll know when you will have read the songbook. Well, let's see your last present.'

Harry obediently picked up the last cardboard box. It was somewhat unbalanced, as if the contents were not fully fitted for the box, or rather, the box for the contents. He opened the lid and gasped.

There, covered with a soft blanket was a little black puppy. The moment Harry opened the box it gave a joyful, if a bit meek and soft, bark and looked at the boy with its coal-like eyes.

'Wow,' said Rupert, looking over Harry's shoulder. 'You're the lucky one, mate. I've been begging Father to buy me a Scottish Deer Hound for ages! Look, there's a note…' he trailed off, as Harry had already managed to notice the piece of parchment and glued his eyes to the text.

_Dear Harry,_

_Tonks and I have been fighting for ages over an appropriate gift for you and have finally managed to come to a shaky agreement. We decided to send you a dog. It__'__s a Scottish Deer Hound, one of the best of the breed. And, just to save you the embarrassment of checking, it__'__s a __'__she__'…_

_Have a very happy Christmas!_

_Padfoot and Tonks_

'Artemis!' cried Harry, his tone of voice clearly indicating that he has just experienced a revelation. And it was, indeed, the case.

He was sitting in the drawing room with Rupert and Aunt Elizabeth long after they'd finished singing carols and, snacking on candied fruits, they were trying to collectively come up with an appropriate name for his new dog.

But Harry was quite picky and no name his family would propose suited him. After all, he didn't want his lovely puppy called something like 'Daisy' or 'Fluffy', or any other stupid name of which they were thinking. No, he wouldn't have his dog named as every other. It wouldn't do if half of the neighbourhood's dogs were to run after him was he to take the puppy for a walk and call after her just because he named his pet some very popular name.

'Artemis?' Rupert sounded sceptical. 'Honestly, Harry, could you possibly be any more snobbish?'

Harry looked at him aghast. 'I'm not being snobbish,' he spat disdainfully. 'If you get yourself a hound, you may call it whatever dreadful name you come up with. I won't have my dog named as every other.'

'Boys…' Aunt Elizabeth warning tone brought them back from the verge of a quarrel. 'Artemis then it is,' she said and patted the dog fondly. 'It's a beautiful animal, Harry. You need to ensure that it is well taken care of. After all, a dog is not only a nice companion but also a great responsibility.'

'But why Artemis? Of all the freaking Greek goddesses, why choose this one?' whined Rupert. 'Really, it's not even a good name.'

'Oh, come off it, Rupe,' said Harry. 'Artemis was the goddess of hunting, among other things. Quite a fitting name for a deer hound, don't you think?'

'No, I don't.' Rupert remained stubborn. 'It's a stupid name.'

'Well, shame, as it's not your dog.' Harry stuck his tongue out at his cousin, refraining from any rude hand-gestures in the presence of their aunt.

The boy stood up and said, 'Come, Artemis! Let's show you to your new home. I bet Dotty has prepared a nice and comfy bed for you.'

As on a command, the little puppy got up to its feet and strutted self-importantly after its new owner. Rupert snorted seeing Artemis as she held her head high and wagged her tail.

'Do be kind, Rupert, dear,' admonished Lady Elizabeth when Harry's left the room and couldn't hear them anymore. 'There's no need to be jealous.'

'I'm not jealous!' exclaimed Rupert with a scandalised expression on his face. 'Why would I be jealous of some flea-bitten mongrel?'

Lady Elizabeth smiled knowingly and hugged Rupert assuredly.

'Why won't Father ever buy me a dog?' he asked in a whiney voice. 'I've been asking him for a hound ever since I could talk and he's always refused.'

'But you've got Sir Willoughby, have you not? It's a hound.'

Rupert snorted. 'Yeah, right. It's a Basset Hound, Auntie. And he's old. All he does is drool, fart and snore.'

'Rupert! There's no need to be vulgar!'

In the evening, when Rupert had already gone to bed, still annoyed to have not been given what he always wanted, Harry lay sprawled on the sofa, reading the encyclopaedia he was given as a Christmas present and wiggling his toes that kept being nibbled at by his new puppy, Artemis, which he'd fallen in love with the moment her big black eyes had stared at him from between the folds of the blanket in the box.

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in his largest toe. Harry gasped at the sudden sting and in a quick movement removed the foot from the reach of the puppy's teeth.

'Artemis!' he cried, startling the little dog. 'That hurt! Bad dog!' The boy massaged his aching toe. 'Dammit!' he said, taking off his sock. There was a small red print of Artemis' fangs on the soft flesh of his toe. He glared angrily at the puppy. Not that the dog seemed to care. It was now ignoring Harry, apparently offended after being shouted at, as it engaged in a fight with one of the tassels that hung from the cushion.

Harry put his sock back on and was about to return to his book when he saw that the tassel was now in the process of being reduced to a single silk thread.

'Artemis!' he cried again, snatching the dog and pulling it away from the cushion. 'You don't do that!' he struggled explain his objection to having his furniture eaten or destroyed, failing miserably. He sighed when the puppy's charcoal eyes stared back at him with something that definitely didn't look like understanding.

'Okay,' he said and stood up with the pet still in his arms. He walked over to the cushioned dog pen and put Artemis inside. 'Now, you stay here. And be good!'

Seeing Artemis grudgingly accept her fate, Harry returned to the sofa and continued with his book. Despite Gwen's promise that the text was dreadfully boring and dry, Harry's found it rather fascinating. The first tome discussed magic among the peoples and animals of the British Isles from the beginning of the Islands' history, when it had detached from mainland Europe, until the arrival of the Celts, about one thousand years BC. It was explained that in the primitive cultures, there was no divergence between Muggles and wizards. They all lived together. They hunted together, cooked together, spent their free time together, bred together and slept side by side in the same cave. However, those who possessed the magical spark that would stimulate their magical core performed different duties. They were priests and wise women, healers and sorcerers, who would kill animals in sacrificial offerings to gods, begging for help with the hunting or weather.

'Harry Potter!' An angry screech caused Harry to jump up in his seat. He spun his head around just to see Aunt Elizabeth standing in the doorway with pyjamas-clad Rupert standing beside her, his gloomy face clearly indicating that something very bad happened. In three quick strides, Lady Elizabeth appeared straight before him, snatched the book from his hands and threw it on the table forcefully. Her usually radiant and quaint face was contorted with fury.

'Ouch!' cried Harry as Aunt Elizabeth grabbed his ear and pulled him to his feet. 'What are you doing!' he shouted, trying to wriggle away. Unfortunately, the more he struggled the more pain he could feel in his earlobe. Following this logic, Harry calmed himself and stood motionless until Lady Elizabeth let go of his ear. He dared to massage it, feeling how hot it was. He was about to think what Rupert must have thought of this childish display, when he noticed that the other boy's ear was red as well. He must have suffered the same treatment.

'Spin the Bottle?' Aunt Elizabeth hissed through gritted teeth. 'Do you expect anyone to believe that?' When the boys stood silently, fixing their eyes on their feet, she continued, 'I thought that I could trust you. Apparently not. By the end of the day tomorrow, which means no later than six o'clock in the evening should you be wondering, I want to see three hundred lines from Georgics from each of you on my desk along with an explanation as to why do you think the ban on underage drinking exists and why was it bad to break it. And the essay should be at least one foot.'

Rupert gasped.

'And yes, Rupert, it does mean that this year's hunt will have to do without the two of you,' she said in an icy voice. 'This is shameful. You should lead by example, not go to the village to get drunk. I can't believe I'm even having this conversation with you. And believe me when I say that you will not go into the village anymore until I see you can act responsibly. Better start on your punishment, as I will assign fifty lines more for each hour of delay.'

When the last word escaped her mouth, Lady Elizabeth spun around and left the room with a swirl of her night robes.

'Told you we were screwed,' said Rupert heavily, dropping onto the sofa. 'Fuck!' he said, hitting the arm-piece with his clenched fist. 'Why didn't you get rid of the bottles?' he whined accusingly.

'If I remember correctly it was you who said to leave them there as it was better for them to be in my room than if they were to be found by someone in a dustbin!' replied Harry angrily. He was not about to get blamed for the whole thing.

'Sorry,' muttered Rupert sheepishly. 'It's just… I really wanted to go on this hunt.'

'I know, all right?' said Harry, plonking himself onto the sofa next to Rupert. 'I wanted to test my horse-riding skills.' He sighed wistfully, gazing in the space before him.

'Woof!' The sudden bark coming from the pen in the corner of the room made the boys jump.

'Artemis!' cried Harry frantically, seeing that his best dress robes have fallen on the floor just beside the dog pen and that somehow the puppy managed to get hold of them and quietly chew off one of the sleeves during the commotion.


	22. Chapter 22

Hi! Just to make up for lost time, I'm posting this chapter today, not tomorrow. Hope you like it;)

Thank you very much for all your nice reviews, I really do love them (who doesn't?)

Cheers!

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Chapter 22 - Of Graves and Mentors

_Life__'__s a fucking bitch. _

That was the single thought present in Harry's mind as he rummaged through the suitcase Rupert had given him for Christmas, listening to the voices coming from the courtyard. The voices of the members of the hunt on horseback getting ready to leave. He could hear the barking of dogs and the tinkling laughter that he imagined to belong to Lady Olivia Holloway. Finally, the sepulchral sound of the horn, the rattle of hoofs on the gravel, and then nothing but whining of Artemis, who stood by his bed, begging him to help her up.

Sighing, Harry picked the puppy up and put her on his lap, softly stroking the black fur.

'What on earth…' the boy muttered, looking through the pile of papers inside the leather suitcase. 'Have you ever seen something like that?' he asked rhetorically, not expecting the dog to answer.

He flicked through the sheets of yellowish parchment. They were full of those peculiar ECG squiggles, which Harry could by now recognise as Parseltongue.

'What's that?' he mused. 'More music? Songs? Merlin… Why can't things be easier?'

The boy returned to the contents. There were a couple of books and notebooks scattered around him, all of them taken out of the suitcase. The things had belonged to his parents way back in time, though for obvious reason, there were more things of his father than of his mother.

There was their old school stuff, documents, little knick-knacks, like an ugly doll that his mother had apparently transfigured on her first Transfiguration lesson from a piece of cloth that she was supposed to change into a sponge. Not that she meant to do that. Not at all. It was an accident (at least that's what the piece of parchment pinned to the doll said).

_Bloody brilliant! Transfiguration - first time doing magic. Used to be a rag__…__ Still, lost ten points for not following directions. Do you like it? Love, Lily xxx  
_

It was written in a nice, clear handwriting. Harry felt something swell inside of him at the thought that it was his mother's hand that wrote the note. For a moment, he kept staring at the piece of parchment, unsure of what to do next, but he was soon brought back out of his stupor by Artemis, whose snout butted his palm, demanding more scratching.

'Shall we go for a walk?' he asked, looking at the dog pointedly. 'I still haven't seen the northern part of the grounds.'

Artemis' charcoal eyes burned into his own, emerald ones, as if reminding him that he still had three hundred lines of Georgics to copy and an essay to write.

'Good,' said Harry, oblivious of the good advice. 'Let's go then.'

The boy shoved the things from his bed back into the leather suitcase and began walking towards the gates of the castle. He was forced to keep calling after Artemis, as she had a tendency for detours and a nosey streak that forced her to look into every nook and cranny.

Stepping outside, Harry breathed in the chilly, fresh air. 'Excellent,' he said and ran to the other side of the castle, where the lake was; Artemis, for once, following closely behind, barking happily.

Harry didn't know how he got to the family mausoleum. He had no idea what the building he was entering hid in its bowels. It just looked interesting and the boy, being curious, stepped in, unprepared for what he was about to see. And what he saw shook him to his very core.

There were graves. Graves of all sizes, shapes and degrees of beauty. They lined the walls, the floor, and stretched probably somewhere deep under the ground, where the stone stairs led.

Harry felt an odd twinge of fear as he entered the building. Even Artemis, though only a dog, seemed to recoil. He could feel a very powerful magic in the air. Dark magic. It was here to protect the dead. It was here to warn off those who meant harm to the Selwyn family and its ancestors.

Led by his instincts, Harry walked slowly down the stairs. Had he been expecting to see skulls and bones lining the walls, he would have been sorely disappointed. The boy almost smiled, thinking how cheap that would have seemed. Exactly like in a Hollywood horror film. But it wasn't a film. It was a real mausoleum of his family, where his relatives had been buried.

_Lady Marlene Selwyn,_

_née Potter_

_1840-1939,_

_Beloved wife_

_of _

_Lord Thomas Selwyn_

_1830-1933_

Hot blood came rushing to his face. He stood in front of the grave of the eldest daughter of his great-great-grandfather, Aunt Elizabeth's grandmother. The beautiful woman from the portrait in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place. It felt so surreal. Were her ashes really here? It seemed to be just so.

Death was quite a distant concept for Harry. True, he'd lost his parents when he was just one year old, but it was ages ago and he didn't remember them. It wasn't something he experienced consciously. Here, on the other hand, the situation was quite different. Not half a year ago, he talked to the portrait of Marlene Potter. He'd seen her radiant and beautiful, laughing happily at the antisocial Thomas Selwyn. Seeing her tombstone, and the realisation that her lovely form no longer brightened the halls of someone's home, was quite a shock for Harry.

Hesitantly, he touched the mossy stone, trailing his fingertips over the letters of Marlene Potter's name.

'Woof!' A sudden bark made Harry jump.

'Shut up!' he hissed angrily at Artemis, annoyed with the dog for breaking his contemplation. Ignoring the offended look on the puppy's face, Harry continued down the stairs unto the lower levels of the mausoleum. The further down he got, the scarcer the tombstones became. Instead, he could see monumental altars, vaulted ceilings and sculptures. Awe-struck, the boy could only compare it with Westminster Abbey, which he'd seen on a school excursion while in a Muggle primary school. Yet, there was something much more intimidating about the mausoleum, despite it being at least twenty times smaller. This place was filled with magic. The boy could feel, smell and hear Dark magic in every corner of the building. It was present in the marble faces of the sculptures, it swirled around in the air, and _it reeked of orange peel!_

Harry only now managed to connect the smell to magic and it still didn't make much sense to him. He remembered Ron telling him one morning that he smelled as if he'd just peeled a tonne of oranges. And it was after the night he had one of _the_ dreams, starring Ralph Selwyn. But…

While he was on the topic… Was Ralph's grave in the mausoleum, as well?

Suddenly, he felt a slight tugging sensation in his stomach. There was something inside of him pushing him towards the richly engraved, stone altar in the front of the chamber. Slowly, Harry took a cautious step forward, but then his hesitation evaporated, making him move towards the altar in swift, fluent strides. The citrus smell of wild magic grew almost nauseatingly strong.

Harry put his hands on the smooth, cold surface of the marble altar, feeling an alien energy pulsing from it. The energy wasn't hostile, but it didn't seem friendly either. The boy knew somewhere deep down that the best thing he could do now was to run. Run far away and never come back to this accursed place. But he was _curious_. Curious of what was happening, curious of what power was it that had him so enchanted, curious of where Ralph Selwyn's grave was and, above all, curious about his own destiny.

But his curiosity reached its peak a moment later when the marble altar started moving and, with the terrible grinding sound, revealed the entrance to the catacombs below. The sickly stench of a long-closed place hit Harry on the face.

'Wow!' the boy exclaimed, then looked at Artemis. 'What do you think?' he asked but, upon receiving no response from the dog that sat motionless on the other end of the chamber, Harry only shrugged his shoulders and turned to enter the depths of darkness. It wasn't as if he was expecting Artemis to reply, anyway.

He frowned, seeing a mouldy ladder. Would it hold?

Deciding that there was only one way to find out, Harry lowered himself onto the first step.

'At least it didn't break,' he muttered, going slowly further down. The boy felt really nervous. It was dark and damp. He could hear drops of water falling somewhere in the distance. The ladder seemed disturbingly long. The entrance on top kept getting smaller with each step he took. Blinded by the darkness and with his heart pounding, Harry breathed a tiny sigh of relief when his feet touched the stone-paved ground. Immediately, the matches on the walls got magically lighted, causing the chamber to flood with dim light. Harry could hear distant barking of Artemis, probably afraid for the boy's well-being.

Shaking his head, Harry looked around the chamber. It was quite small, no bigger than a regular bedroom. What was striking about it, however, was a life-size statue in one of the corners. Coming closer, Harry began recognising the features of the person it resembled.

It was a statue of the fifteen-years-old Ralph Selwyn, with tongues of diamond fire dancing at his feet. Harry's breath sped up. There was something dreadfully wrong with this place. He needed to get out. Quickly.

But the moment the boy made a dash for the ladder to climb back up, a strong tangy scent swirled around him, causing the mouldy wooden ladder to turn to a pile of splinters.

'No!' the boy screamed on top of his lungs. 'Artemis!'

The distant barking of his dog made him hope that somehow help would reach him.

The prospect of death suddenly flicked before his eyes. Was dying of hunger in a secret catacomb worse than dying in the fire?

'Artemis!' he cried once again. He hoped that echo would carry his voice up, and that his puppy would show intelligence almost unknown to her species. He hoped that she would go and get help. The barks suddenly grew more muffled and for a moment Harry fancied the idea that it was because Artemis had decided to get out of the mausoleum and maybe even get help. But his hopes soon faltered. With dread, the boy listened to the grinding noise the altar made while getting back to its rightful place.

'What the fuck! No!' he shouted, suddenly feeling very helpless. 'I want out! I want out!' he screamed, pounding his fists on the wall.

'Sing something for me,' said a voice behind him. With a deafening screech, Harry jumped and turned around. Before him, in all his elderly glory, stood no one else but Emmanuel. The man he'd seen so many times in his dreams.

'No…' Harry whispered, taking a step back. 'You're dead. What are you doing here?'

'Dead?' asked the old man. 'I am afraid, my boy, that you must have confused me with someone else. Now, sing for me. You are Yekaterina's boy. You must know how to sing.'

Harry stared at the wizard that looked so much like Emmanuel. Was it really him? What was he doing in such a place? And why on earth was he even alive? Wasn't he supposed to have died in the castle fire? But, come to think of it, Harry had never seen him die. He'd only seen Ralph.

'How do you know who I am?' he whispered, a twinge of fear clearly audible in his voice.

'He told me.' Emmanuel pointed to the marble and diamond statue.

'He's dead. He died in the fire. He couldn't have told you. It's only a statue,' Harry tried to reason.

'Tell me, Harry… and yes, I know your name is Harry, refrain from flinching, please. It doesn't suit a gentleman. Tell me, please, how do you happen to be here, at the Selwyn Castle?'

'It's not your business! I want to get out!' he screamed, hitting the wall, but then hissing with pain as it scraped his knuckled.

'And get out you will,' the old man explained patiently. 'I mean you no harm, Harry. I merely want you to understand what has been happening to you. For example, why do you keep having the dreams…'

'No…' the boy whispered, horrified. It was surreal. 'What do you want from me?'

'It is not what I want from you that matters, my boy. It is what you want from yourself. What kind of life do you want to live? What path to pursue? It is all here, within your reach. I am here to help you understand.'

Emmanuel stood there, staring at him down his hooked nose. His eyes were bright green, similar to those of Harry's, yet in a way so different. They shone with lore long forgotten, they spoke of the dreadful things the old man had witnessed. Still, they were serene and sincere. Harry couldn't shake off the feeling of drowning in them, of losing himself and his whole being in those emerald wells.

Finally, he managed to break the connection.

'I want out,' he said meekly, almost pleadingly.

Emmanuel sighed.

'Very well,' he said and raised his arm. The tangy scent of oranges reached Harry's senses and he was swept away by hot air. He closed his eyes, feeling a tight knot in his chest loosening somehow. Next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the grass outside the mausoleum, having lost his balance upon landing, with a piece of old parchment stuffed in his palm.

Curiously, Harry unfolded the note.

_Don__'__t forget your Georgics, child!_

Shooting a quick glance on his watch, Harry gulped, swore rudely and ran towards the castle, accompanied by Artemis' barking. The boy spared the dog a glance. It wanted to play with some stone it was holding.

'Not now, Artemis,' he said dismissively. 'I've got a load of work to do.'

And he left the disappointed puppy behind. Not that it cared. Playing alone seemed to appeal just as much to Artemis as playing with Harry.

Gasping for breath, Harry plonked himself onto the sofa in his drawing room and opened the fatigued punishment book. He was really interested to see the lines Ralph had written there, but realised there was no time for dawdling, unless he wanted more lines to write.

_Quid faciat laetas segetes, quo sidere terram…_

After copying the first sentence, Harry felt an odd desire to know what the lines were about. He thought it was quite shameful that they didn't teach Latin at Hogwarts as it was…

_vertere, Maecenas, ulmisque adiungere vitis_

… as it was used to create spells. Besides, it could be very useful to know the language, particularly in a situation such as now, that he had to copy it. Knowing the correct spelling of words would have saved him loads of time.

The boy cursed descriptively upon stumbling twice on the word _tempestatumque_.

… _Vidi lecta diu et multo spectata labore…_

Harry sighed tiredly. It was almost two hundred. His hand felt numb, his mind felt numb and the only thing that he wanted now was to take a long bubble bath and to go to sleep. Instead, he's still had a hundred lines and the blasted essay to write. He didn't even know what to put in the essay. After all, what was the reason for introducing the underage drinking ban? Probably some balderdash the adults had come up with once upon a time to subjugate the innocent, unsuspecting youth.

The boy sighed and returned to his lines. He had only two hours left until Aunt Elizabeth would be back from the hunt and he still had not written the essay.

Harry smiled victoriously an hour later, when his tired and aching hand had written the final sentence of his punishment.

_Frigoribus parto agricolae plerumque fruuntur_

'I do hope that will teach you to behave in accordance with your station,' said Lady Elizabeth, upon collecting the Georgics and essays. She adjusted the spectacles on her long nose with one swift move of her middle finger.

The boys, staring at their feet instead of their aunt, who was still dressed in her hunting gear, mumbled their apologies.

'Good. I'm glad you understand the gravity of the situation. I will have no nephews of mine running around getting drunk. It's no way to behave. Regardless of circumstances. You may now return to your rooms. I'll look through your essays. And they better be good!'

'What is she going to do if the essays are not good?' asked Harry when he and Rupert were on their way back to their chambers. 'Is she going to make us write them over?'

The other boy snorted. 'No. Well, at least that has never happened to me. But she just loves to correct all the errors with red ink and write snide remarks on the margins. And then you have to write each word you've misspelled ten times.'

'I suppose I'm quite good when it comes to spelling. Shouldn't be a problem, then.' Harry chuckled slightly.

'Yeah,' Rupert consented, somewhat reluctantly. 'I remember when I was ten and could not spell the word _manoeuvre_. She made me write it over and over. But, mind you, I have never misspelled that word again!'


	23. Chapter 23

Hi folks! Next chapter here for you;) A bit unconventional, hopefully you'll enjoy it.

Thank you for your fantastic reviews!

* * *

Chapter 23 - Of Tutors, Toffee and Ancient Rites

Mr Patterson was an elderly gentleman of more than seventy years of age. He was always immaculately dressed and groomed, usually clad in old-fashioned knitted jumpers and tweeds. There would also be a wizarding robe and a hat to top it off and complement the look that was traditionally associated with the dons of the University of Oxford. And, as Harry was about to find out, the man was also a brilliant pianist.

The moment the boy entered the music room at the Selwyn Castle, he was formally greeted by Mr Patterson and instructed to sit on a small rococo-style sofa beside the pianoforte. Having his orders complied with, the teacher then proceeded to give a short performance of his musical prowess. And, indeed, he had much to boast. His lean, elegant hands with surgical precision danced along the piano-keys, making Harry watch his fingers with amazement, feeling inspired by their grace and sensuality. It didn't last long, however, and a couple of minutes later Harry was brought back down to earth from his awe-inspired musings.

'Do you happen to know any songs, my boy?' Mr Patterson inquired politely. 'I would like to get a grasp of your abilities before we start any formal teachings. Well?'

As the man stared at Harry expectantly, the boy was thinking frantically. What was he to sing? He didn't know much, apart from the pub songs with which he had indulged his friends, but somehow he didn't feel they would constitute an appropriate repertoire for Mr Patterson's ears.

'Erm…' said Harry, squirming in his seat. 'I don't know… Maybe, "Blow the Wind Southerly"?' he asked, unsure.

Mr Patterson smiled genuinely. 'I absolutely love that song!' he exclaimed excitedly and rubbed his hands happily. 'Would you like me to accompany you on the pianoforte?'

Harry nodded his consent and stood up from the sofa after being beckoned to do so by the teacher.

_Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,_

_Blow the wind south o__'__er the bonnie blue sea._

_They told me last night there were ships in the offing,_

_And I hurried down to the deep rolling sea;_

_But my eyes could not see it, wherever might be it,_

_The bark that is bearing my lover to me__…_

'Hmm…' murmured Mr Patterson. 'It should be a little bit higher,' he said, but it was clear that he was pleased. 'When you sing "Blow the wind southerly…", you should slow down a bit. Take your time and let the music speak through you. Put your heart and magic into the words. I want to hear the wind softly blowing through your voice. It can't be just flat and rid of emotions. Try again, please!'

_Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,_

_Blow__…_

'No, no, no!' cried Mr Patterson, hitting the piano-keys with his hands in a bout of exaggerated exasperation. 'Blow! Blow, my boy! You must sing it higher! Not just _blah_…'

Harry stared at the teacher as if he'd suddenly grown a second head.

'Yes, but how do I do that?' he asked, struggling to remain calm, though a hint of irritation managed to creep into his voice.

'You need to feel the music you are producing. It's not just words. It's what behind the words that matters. And mind your temper!' Mr Patterson admonished. Harry sighed. It would be hard and arduous to learn from this man.

'Sorry, sir,' he offered complacently. 'It's just… I don't know _how _to sing.'

'Nonsense,' replied Mr Patterson. 'You've got a fabulous voice, my boy. It's only the matter of putting your raw talent on the right track. I dare say that by the end of this lesson you will never again forget to put _wind _in your wind.'

'You really think so, sir?' Harry asked, full of hope.

'I most certainly do. If only you practise regularly and diligently apply yourself to improving your technique, you shall yet make a decent Sono Wizard. After all, it's all in here,' the man said and tapped Harry on the forehead with his long finger. 'And here,' he traced his hand over Harry's chest and throat. 'Now that we have it all cleared up… Again! From "they told me…"'

_They told me last night there were ships in the offing,_

_And I hurried down to the deep rolling sea__…_

Harry tried his best to sing it as well as he only could. And Mr Patterson seemed to appreciate the effort.

'Much better! Good boy!' he praised, never stopping to play, which told Harry that he shouldn't stop either.

'Excellent. Now, let's try the scales. I need to know how high you can go. You seem quite able, which means that you'll probably end up as a quite high-pitched tenor, but we can't be sure. It's imperative that we remain quite gentle with your voice as it's still breaking. We wouldn't want to cause any damage. Right. Sing "la", please!'

And so it went. The practice lasted for more than an hour. Mr Patterson was extremely demanding, picking up on every breach of harmony, on each wrongly sung note, on a slightest imperfection. Despite his initial irritation, Harry found himself greatly enjoying the lessons. He felt that he had finally found something worthwhile, something he was really good at, and, unlike Quidditch, something that actually came from his superior magical power rather than luck or help of others. Of course, he was an incontestable Quidditch champion at school, but he realised that it was just a hobby. Not something to build one's future upon, regardless of the laurels that the international stars received.

Sono Magic could be used in many different ways and settings. Harry didn't know yet how powerful it was or what exactly could be achieved with it, but the appeal was there, the will was there. And, most importantly, there was the dedication and the desire to follow through.

'It's disgusting, you know?' said Harry, scrunching his face at Rupert, who only smiled sheepishly in return. The boys were sitting by the lake on the back of the Selwyn estate, trying to alleviate boredom. Harry kept pulling on the grass blades and throwing them onto the water and, for lack of a better entertainment, enjoying the way they sank, whereas Rupert pulled out a box of snuff and, with a stupid grin, indulged himself.

'Why do you take that shit?' asked Harry, looking with distaste at the silver box of something that his cousin had proclaimed to be the most expensive snuff on the market - The Toadies.

Rupert smiled, then grunted and blew his nose. 'I like it,' he said, the tone of his voice clearly indicating that it had been a particularly daft question. 'There's nothing that clears your nose better. It was a craze at Grove last spring. I suppose it just stuck with me.'

Harry scrunched his face at that. The brown goo that Rupert kept blowing out of his nose was enough to convince him that he did right to have denied his cousin's offer to share the snuff.

'It looks like shit,' said Harry, observing with disgust the pile of dirty tissues that Rupert had produced.

'Toffee,' the other boy replied with a grin.

'That's about the last thing I would ever compare it with.' Harry pulled a handful of grass with roots and threw it into the water.

Meanwhile, Rupert shook with laughter. 'That's what the word "toff" derives from. Don't you know?'

Harry looked at him incredulously. 'You're kidding, right? Toff? What's that got to do with anything?'

'"Toff" comes from "toffee-nosed",' Rupert explained, rolling on the grass with laughter.

'That's disturbing,' said Harry, scrunching his nose. 'You mean to tell me that people in the past used snuff and… and what?'

'And as it dripped from their noses, it looked like toffee. And they were the wealthy upper-classes. Thus, "toff".'

Harry looked at Rupert, unable to believe the boy's words. 'It's a wonder they're not called "shitty-nosed" if that's really the case.'

'Honest!' Rupert put his right hand to his heart to add more value to his assurances. 'Ask anyone. They'll tell you the same.'

Rupert sniffed more snuff.

'Merlin!' he cried, and then sneezed, missing his handkerchief and drizzling his trousers with the brown gooey mess.

'Don't worry, Rupe. It's just toffee,' said Harry amidst laughter, pounding the ground with his fist.

'How was your day, boys?' asked Lady Elizabeth as they all sat down for supper at six. She put some salad onto her plate to complement the roast beef, encouraging the boys to do the same. Harry scrunched his nose; he hated raw vegetables. Rupert, on the other hand, put a large pile of greens on his plate and, to his cousin's utter amazement, started savouring them, pretending to enjoy their crunchy-watery taste.

Harry sent him a questioning look but Rupert only shook his head slightly and winked.

'Auntie?' Rupert asked his godmother, his tone polite and manners impeccable. Lady Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

'Yes?' she said warily. She knew that look. Her godson definitely wanted some favour.

'I was thinking… You see, Lady Olivia Holloway offered to invite Harry and me to her house for the New Year's Eve celebrations. And I was thinking, as you are going to be at the Ministry anyway, if we could… errr… if we could maybe go?'

'No,' she said firmly, her eyes narrowed. 'You've showed me just how irresponsible you are when left to your own devices. Therefore, this year you'll be staying at home with Dotty watching over you. I may allow you to go to the Easter Ball if you prove to me that you know how to behave. I will not suffer a public disgrace just because the two of you can't control your urges. I hope that'll teach you to act responsibly…'

'Okay, okay!' Rupert interrupted, apparently annoyed. 'No need to get all over us! Really…'

'Don't interrupt me!' Aunt Elizabeth admonished. 'Eat your supper and you may go to your rooms.'

Later that evening, Harry sat in his room playing Exploding Snap with his cousin.

'I knew it would be like that,' said Rupert, throwing a card onto the pile.

'Did you?' Harry sounded sceptical. 'What about your boast that you could make her do anything?'

'Oh, but Harry, you don't understand,' Rupert said with a grin. 'She did _exactly_ what I wanted. Olivia never invited us over. I intend to invite _her _over.'

'But how? Dotty's gonna be here.'

'There's a reason why house-elves are among the stupidest creatures on earth. Believe me, Harry, Olivia will be with us. And Dotty will be… hmm… I'll think of something appropriate.'

Harry was afraid to fall asleep that night. He wasn't sure why, but he was certain that he smelt a faint smell of oranges in the air and was sure it bode nothing good. Turning restlessly in his bed, the boy had already managed to call Dotty three times that evening, first asking her to light the candles on the walls, then to bring him a new bedside jug of water and in the end to put the lights out again and to take his frustrations out on someone. For some reason, he felt really unsafe and jumpy, startling at every sound or lying still, listening closely, to make out all the odd noises of the night. And the tangy scent didn't help at all. On the contrary, it made him even shakier.

'What's wrong…' he whispered frantically, pulling the duvet higher up to his chin. The room was dimly lit with the silvery rays of moonlight which only added to the eerie atmosphere, making even the heavy oaken wardrobe look like a monster.

Harry snorted, realising how ridiculous his thoughts had been. For goodness sake, a couple of days ago he had gone alone into the catacombs! Why was he afraid of his own shadow now?

But it felt different, somehow. The foolhardy excursion to the mausoleum had him realise many things he hadn't noticed before. He could now recognise the scent of Dark magic. He could sense its presence. And disconcerting though it was, he was certain that the magic was trying to creep surreptitiously into his sleep. The orange smell was a good proof of that.

'Artemis?' he called out into the space. The thought of snuggling into his puppy's fur seemed more appealing than ever as, however little the dog could do against the forces stronger than the universe itself, the presence of a living being would definitely soothe his nerves. 'Artemis?' he repeated when the first call turned out to be in vain. But the dog still wouldn't come. Harry was sure that she was in his drawing room, probably sleeping on the _chaise longue_, and he should just go and bring her to his bed, but the thought of leaving the bed now seemed very uncomfortable, if not downright scary.

The boy sighed with exasperation and was about to throw himself back onto the fluffy pillows when the tangy scent hit him with more force than ever.

'No!' he screamed and coughed violently, trying to get rid of the heavy air entering his lungs. He could feel it spread around his body, overtaking control of his senses and his mind. He thrashed around the bed to shake the feeling off, but the magic was stronger. Struggling to keep the wave of the nauseating orange smell away, Harry lost consciousness and fell lifelessly onto the pillows.

'_Ralphie?__'__ He heard a voice speaking. __'__Wake up, darling. It is time to go.__'_

_Slowly, the boy opened his tired, red-rimmed eyes. They were glassy and absent, as if the child was very ill. And, indeed, Ralph was running a high fever, his face was flushed a sickly shade of crimson and the nauseating smell of oranges wouldn__'__t let go. _

'_Mummy__…'__ he muttered, clinging tightly onto the woman before him. __'__I__'__m scared.__'_

'_It__'__s okay, darling,__'__ she said soothingly. __'__It will be over soon. Come with me.__'_

_Stumbling slightly, Ralph stood up from his bed and followed his mother out of the chamber. He shivered as the cold hit him. The stone floor of the Selwyn Castle seemed freezing under his fever-heated feet and the sweat that had so far been soaking into his bed sheets was now running freely down his face and back. He felt too weak to walk. _

'_Mum__…'__ he whispered pleadingly, clutching tightly onto the woman__'__s sleeve. _

'_It__'__s okay, my boy,__'__ she said, kissing the top of his head and hugging him closer. __'__It won__'__t take long. Be brave.__'_

_Still shivering, Ralph continued down the hall, still holding onto his mother for support. _

'_Go inside,__'__ said Lady Selwyn as they reached a richly engraved door in an obscure part of the castle. __'__Your father and Emmanuel are already waiting for you.__'_

'_Won__'__t you come with me?__'__ the boy pleaded, his face pale frightened. _

'_You know I can__'__t,__'__ she replied, stroking the child__'__s hair. __'__My magic would interfere with yours.__'_

_Nodding his head, Ralph slowly pushed the door open and entered the chamber. It was dark but for the dim light of two candelabra and there was a stone altar in the middle of the room. Behind the altar stood two people, whom Ralph knew to be his father and Emmanuel, dressed in identical black hooded robes, with golden masks hiding their faces. The boy gulped, seeing his father holding a long ritual knife, silver, with diamonds embedded into the handle, and Emmanuel with a large crystal goblet in his hands. He knew they would need quite a lot of his blood. _

'_Ralph Selwyn, what do you come for?__'__ asked Lord Selwyn in a deep, low voice which was so unlike his normal pitch. _

'_I come to lay on the Altar of Magic my blood, my power, my soul and my body, and to swear my eternal fealty to the Magic of my ancestors that was, is and will be, and whose end we should never anticipate,__'__ the boy recited the formula. _

_There was a slight change in the magic floating around the room. The scent of oranges grew stronger and stronger, making Ralph feel really sick. He knew, however, that it would be less than savoury for him to throw up right there at the Altar of Magic, though supposedly it was not that uncommon. But he wanted to show strength, even if he did not feel particularly strong. The preparations for the ritual had really drained him. _

'_Magic wishes to grant your pleas,__'__ Ralph heard Emmanuel speak. __'__Lie on the Altar and hold out your hand.__'_

_Slowly and carefully, the boy climbed onto the stone table and lay flat on his back, giving his teacher his right hand to draw blood for the ritual. _

_Having filled the goblet, Emmanuel placed it at Ralph__'__s feet. __'__This is your sacrifice, child,__'__ the man said when the blood did not change its colour. It meant that the offering was accepted. __'__Remember to remain true to Magic until the day you die.__'_

_With the final word, the ambient magic present in the room turned into a whirlwind, destroying the chamber and enveloping the occupants in something that could only be described as the Breath of Magic. Ralph convulsed once, his whole body twisting at odd angles, and then everything went blank. _

_The dream changed. Now he was sitting on his canopy bed, his legs half-covered with an emerald duvet, facing a boy in whom he had immediately recognised Jamie Lovell. Jamie's face sported a broad smile and his eyes shone with excitement. _

'_So, how did it go?' he asked, almost jumping in his seat with giddiness. 'Did it hurt?'_

'_No, not really,' Ralph replied, but a sheepish grin spread over his features. 'At least not much. It was weird, though. I felt so weak, and I had an awful fever since we began the preparations. I thought I was going to be sick from all the smell. I have never felt it stronger than during the Ceremony.'_

_Jamie nodded understandingly. He had gone through the same a year before and could appreciate his friend's confusion. _

'_When do you reckon you'll be out of bed?' The boy really missed flying with Ralph in the moonlight. _

'_No clue, mate. But Papa said that I shall be returning to school on Monday. That's three days from now, so I suppose we won't have much time together. But I'll be back for the half-term in three weeks.' _

'_Maybe you could just sneak out?' asked Jamie, full of hope. 'George and Wenty miss you,' he said, a taunting grin spreading on his face. _

'_Wenty?' Ralph was caught by surprise, 'As in Wentworth Dougherty? What the hell is he doing here? He should be at school.'_

_Jamie laughed and explained, 'Well, apparently, he contracted poppy-dots two weeks ago and had to be isolated from everyone, so his parents mercifully offered to take him home. Otherwise, he would have spent the fortnight in the Sanatorium under the watchful eye of Madam Wilkes.' The boy's voice was full of sarcasm, making his attitude towards everything he had mentioned almost self-explanatory. _

_But, the Harry-soul felt confused. What on earth was 'poppy-dots'? Some wizarding disease of which he had never heard of? Or this 'Sanatorium'? Was it something like the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts?_

'_Yeah, that would be quite nasty,' Ralph agreed, pulling the duvet tighter around his legs. 'Anyway, I don't want to see him. I get enough of his spotty face at Grove, thank you very much. I don't need to see him in my free time as well.'_

'_Oh, come on, Ralph!' Jamie sounded quite exasperated. 'Don't be like that!'_

_The boy stared at him coldly. 'Maybe you've already forgotten, but make no mistake, I still remember that it's because of him that not a month ago I spent _four hours_ on punishment duty picking out moss from between the cobblestones in the Ravan Courtyard. It's the largest one at school!'_

'_Really, Ralphie,' Jamie used his best persuasive tone. 'There's no reason for being grumpy. Wenty's not that bad. And I bet he regrets ratting you out.'_

_Ralph's face darkened. 'Let him regret a bit longer, then,' he said vindictively. 'I'll talk to him when I get back to school and I can promise he won't like the outcome!'_

_Jamie sighed and shook his head exasperatedly. Ralph was too stubborn to be reasoned with. He had to be either thrashed by Wenty to understand, or by the Headmaster for pummelling Wenty. Seeing Ralph's hard and unwavering expression, Jamie stopped talking about Wentworth, bringing up his impending birthday party instead. Unsurprisingly, it was met with an enthusiastic reply and the tension that rose between the two boys dissolved into excited planning._


	24. Chapter 24

Hi folks! Chapter 24 here for you:)) Hopefully you'll enjoy it. Thanks for your reviews and likes!

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Chapter 24 - Of Invitations and Goodbyes

'What? There's no way in hell I'm going!' whined Rupert, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. 'Father told me at the beginning of the Christmas break that I wouldn't have to attend any stupid balls!'

Lady Elizabeth frowned, her shapely black eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. She wasn't used to being spoken to in such a fashion.

'Your father wants you to go, therefore you will. And you shall do so without any whingeing and moaning. If it wasn't important for you to be there, your father wouldn't have bothered you. Now, go and pack your suitcases. You are very welcome to return for the half-term, but I cannot go against your parents' wishes.'

Pouting and stomping his feet angrily, Rupert retreated to his chambers. He made so much fuss about it that Harry, who had the misfortune of meeting the boy on his way downstairs, thought that something absolutely dreadful must have happened. After all, seeing Rupert Fellowes running along the corridors, swearing like a sailor, kicking walls and armours, and boxing the house-elves' ears wasn't an often-encountered treat. It was even rarer a view to find the said young gentleman to slam the doors or bang on the walls with his fists.

Considering all he had seen, it was no wonder that the Harry Potter that entered the conservatory was _slightly_ more confused than the Harry Potter that had just a couple of minutes before left his drawing room.

'Auntie? Do you know what happened to Rupert?' he asked, seeing Lady Elizabeth gracefully seated on one of the big, fluffy pouffes, reading a book. The woman sighed, put the book on the coffee table that stood just beside her, and turned her face towards Harry.

'I do, actually,' she said, sounding somewhat tired, despite the early hour. 'His father requested that he attends the Malfoys' New Year's Eve Ball. Suffice it to say, he's not very happy about it.'

The boy nodded understandingly. He could commiserate with his cousin on that matter. After all, had he been forced to go to Malfoy Manor to socialise he'd probably thrown a tantrum, too. Even a simple thought of having to be polite to Draco or Lucius Malfoy made his stomach churn with revulsion.

Harry walked over to the sofa and, upon making himself comfortable, took out his Potions book. He had to write an essay on the uses and properties of common herbs in healing draughts, which had to cover at least ten specimens. The boy snorted softly when he remembered Snape saying, with his eyes firmly fixed on Hermione, that anyone who dared to describe more than fifteen would receive a zero for the assignment.

Harry opened his textbook on the chapter that contained a dry lecture on the properties of Muggle herbs and was about to start reading when an unnerving thought hit him.

'Aunt Elizabeth?' he attempted to gain his guardian's attention. The woman raised her eyes away from the book, to which she had returned earlier, when Harry stopped his questioning, and motioned for the boy to speak.

'If Rupert's leaving, does that mean that I will be staying here alone for the New Year's Eve?' he asked, trying to conceal his disappointment.

Lady Elizabeth looked at him thoughtfully.

'Hmm…' she murmured, thinking of the best solution to the obvious problem. After all, she didn't want Harry to be alone and miserable when everyone else will be out having fun. 'Maybe you'd like to invite your friends over?' she offered, unable to come up with anything better. 'You could have a party and a sleepover, and maybe Lady Olivia Holloway would like to come as well? She's a delightful girl, certainly.'

Harry considered it for a moment. Would Ron like to come to visit? Maybe Ginny and the twins, too? He wasn't sure about Hermione. On the one hand, he still couldn't help but consider her a friend. After all they had been through, after all their time together, there were far too many things between them to forget. On the other hand, though, he could never forgive the girl for what she had done. There was no excuse for being so… self-righteous and bigoted. Mr Riggs' soul had probably been saved, but it was merely a fluke that he had not been given the Dementor's Kiss right away.

However, the fact remained that Harry greatly missed his friend. He had only had two real friends in his life so far - Ron and Hermione, either of them peculiar in their own quirky way, both complementing one another, and neither of them replaceable in any way imaginable.

Making up his mind, the boy decided that, despite not having exchanged Christmas gifts this year, there were too many good and memorable things between himself and Hermione not to give it a second try.

'I think it may be a good idea,' he said with a smile on his lips. 'May I invite Ron and Hermione and Olivia? And maybe Ron's sister and two of his brothers if they have no other plans?'

Lady Elizabeth smiled indulgently and nodded her consent.

'Just remember, you are the host and you are responsible for your guests,' she said sternly. 'You've got a second chance to prove to me that you are a sensible boy. I want order to be maintained. Don't make me punish you again. Because know that I will, even if you'll be posting the Georgics from school to me, you will be writing at least a thousand if I find anything to be amiss.'

The threat was announced half-heartedly, but Harry knew that Aunt Elizabeth wasn't joking. He thanked her profusely, promised that everything would be impeccable and then ran to the owlery, radiating excitement.

A party! He was going to host a party! His very first and very own party… There was a pleasant, warm feeling of elation spreading all over his body at the very thought. The Dursleys had never allowed him to attend (never mention to host!) any parties, be it a birthday party or a sleepover. Dudley had always bragged about how wonderful and exciting they were, but Harry had never been allowed to participate. And now he got to host one!

Of course, everything had to be perfect. He would have to go over the menu with Dotty and arrange the bedrooms where his friends would be sleeping. He needed to tell Smirt to _un_clutter the conservatory, as this was the most suitable place in the castle to host a cosy party. Obviously, only after half the furniture was removed; there was no way anyone would have a nice time in a place that looked like a junk room, regardless of how much Harry loved the look of it.

Having reached the owlery, the boy quickly scribbled a note on a piece of parchment that was originally supposed to serve for his homework, yet had still found a different use.

_Dear Ron and Hermione,_

_How are you? I hope that everything is fine in Grimmauld Place and that your are both having fun. _

_I__'__m writing mostly because Aunt Elizabeth allowed me to throw a party for my friends on the New Year__'__s Eve. I would love the two of you to come and keep me company. Aunt Elizabeth will be at the Ministry Ball, so we are going to have the whole castle and the grounds to ourselves._

_Hermione, I know that we did not part on amicable terms, but I would like to set it all right once again, forget about the past and try to save our friendship. You really mean a lot to me. Far too much to lose you over what had happened. Please, come and say that you__'__re no longer angry. _

_Ron, I would also like to invite Ginny and the twins, if they have no other plans. _

_Hope to see you soon._

_Cheers,_

_Harry_

When he finished his letter, he tied it to the leg of Hedwig and sent the bird on its way. He really did hope that his friends' answer would be affirmative. He was a bit late with the invitation, the New Year's Eve being just two days away, but then what else did they have to do? Mrs Weasley certainly wouldn't have let them out of Grimmauld Place and that way they at least had a pretext to get out of the old dump.

Feeling little remorse over thinking about his godfather's house in such a derogatory way, Harry took another sheet of parchment. He was about to start writing but hesitated in the last moment, the nib of his quill hovering _just_ above the parchment. He bit his lower lip anxiously. The message to Lady Olivia required much more thought. He definitely didn't want to send anything chaotic or written in a messy script.

_Dear Olivia, _he wrote slowly, trying his best to avoid using his regular scrawl and leaving ink blots, quite spectacularly failing to write even the first two words to his satisfaction. Angrily, the boy tore the parchment into tiny pieces and threw it in the air. He took another clean sheet, his last, and started anew. Faring not much better, he decided that it would have to do. Despite his embarrassment, Harry managed to scribble the note, apologising in the post scriptum for his appalling handwriting.

An hour later, the boy, thoroughly annoyed with himself, could only think how stupid he had been. From the moment he had sent Lady Elizabeth's best eagle owl on its way to Lady Olivia, he knew he shouldn't have apologised. It was completely idiotic. Rupert would never have done it.

Still berating himself for this bout of idiocy, Harry returned to his chambers. He needed to take Artemis for a walk.

'I'll miss you, mate,' said Rupert, shaking Harry's hand and sending him a somewhat sheepish smile. He had grown fond of his cousin. 'You must promise to write to me! And, of course, you must come for Easter. Uncle Oswald said that the Ministry reforms have introduced Easter break at Hogwarts, just as we have at Grove.'

'Of course, I will,' replied Harry, looking at Rupert with incredulity, as if the other boy had just said something enormously stupid. 'And you must write to me, too. Tell me about life at Grove.'

There were no hugs, no long goodbyes, nor tearful leaving. These things were reserved for girls and old spinsters. And if there was one thing that Harry had learned form his time with Rupert, it was the fact that emotions should never be shown publicly, that one's thoughts should remain one's own and that, as the only female Muggle Prime Minister had said, wearing one's heart on one's sleeve wasn't a very good plan as one should wear it inside, where it functioned best.

'Well, don't aggravate Uncle Lucius too much,' said Harry, his voice full of sarcasm, as he patted Rupert on the shoulder.

'Yeah, wouldn't be a very wise idea,' the boy replied with a snort, and then snapped his fingers. Three peculiarly dressed house-elves appeared out of nowhere.

'Tilly, take my suitcases to my rooms,' he ordered the elf in a pink, frilly pillowcase. 'Donk! I have no use of you, go back home and make something nice to eat. Ollily! I'm ready to be apparated!'

Rupert clapped his hands three times and disappeared in a flash of light along with the three elves, but not before sending Harry's way a mischievous grin and a wink.

Lady Olivia Holloway hated being treated as a child. She was fifteen, for goodness sake! Couldn't her annoying family comprehend that little fact?

The source of her anger was, obviously, the annual Malfoys' New Year's Eve Ball. Her whole family was going. Her father, her mother, her older sister, Camilla; hell, even her _younger_ brother, Albert, was going. But no, she would be spending her New Year's Eve at home, alone, when everyone would be having fun.

'It's inappropriate for the girl your age to appear at an event this formal,' Olivia remembered her mother say. 'Especially since Camilla's not yet even engaged.'

The girl snorted. As if it was her fault that her ugly and stupid sister had still had to gain attention of a gentleman. Of course, it was no secret among the family members that Camilla had had a little fling at school, Morgana's Ladies' College, with a farmer boy from the village next to the venerable institution. Olivia's face scrunched with disgust when she thought about her sister's alma mater. She herself had refused to go there, choosing to be home-schooled instead. Morgana's Ladies' College was known for its snobbishness, albeit the academic standards were ones of the highest in Europe. The school only admitted girls from titled families. A second cousin of a duke, even if exorbitantly rich, would never have got in. Well, she would have, had her father had another title, of course, but it wasn't the case very often.

'But mamma, even Bertie's going!' Olivia responded to the outright discrimination. 'You can't do that to me! What am I supposed to do here?'

However, her mother would not waver in her decision. 'Preferably go to bed early. Otherwise, your skin will get even worse than it already is. Have you tried that charmed ointment for freckles I gave you? You will never find yourself a husband if you continue to ignore my good advice!'

At this point, Olivia wanted nothing more than to go and hide in her room, and to cry her eyes out. Her freckles were a very delicate matter for her and her mother always taunted her because of them. It wasn't her fault that she was the only freckled redheaded female in the family. Of course, Lady Holloway had impeccable complexion. Her skin was porcelain, without any blemishes. The same was for true for Camilla and Albert. Only Olivia, with her Celtic red hair, fiery and always frizzy, inherited the usual traits of the renowned Holloway family. She and her father boasted freckles and the infamous mop, however, as her mother had never failed to remind her, Lord Holloway was a man, and an already married man, too. She was a girl, still looking for an appropriate husband, and the freckled face made her all but beautiful.

Thus, two days before the New Year's Eve, Olivia sat in her bedroom, her mood gloomy and her lean hands clenched into fists. Her anger didn't lessen in the slightest when she heard annoying pounding on the windowpane, undoubtedly caused by an owl's claw.

Sighing, the girl stood up from her seat and made her way towards the window to let the bird in. As it turned out a moment later, the gorgeous eagle owl brought a neatly rolled piece of parchment. Olivia's eyebrows shot up as she read and reread the somewhat shy invitation to come to the Selwyn Castle for the New Year's Eve 'quiet party in the company of friends.' She giggled at the post scriptum. Harry Potter was a really adorable boy. She had never met anyone who would apologise for bad handwriting. Well, that might have been because she had never met anyone to issue invitations themselves. It was usually specially trained house-elves that wrote everything. The only person that she actually corresponded with was Rupert Fellowes and his script was a masterpiece. But then, Rupert was famous for being artistically talented.

She remembered her mother telling her multiple times to keep Rupert Fellowes close. The boy was from a good family, he was rich and well-connected. One day, they would marry and the Holloways would get another powerful ally. But Olivia didn't think of Rupert along those lines. He was her closest friend, her only friend actually, and she would never have thought of marrying him if it wasn't for her mother's insinuations. She kept Rupert around for Lady Holloway's benefit, but the woman didn't need to know that Olivia had no intention whatsoever of marrying the boy. He was too fantastic as a friend to destroy their relationship. And she knew how marriage could destroy friendship. She had her father and mother as a perfect example.

Returning to the letter, Olivia giggled once again and proceeded to her desk to write back. She didn't think there was a need to ask her parents for permission. What if she was denied? It was better to inform them afterwards.

_Dear Harry, _she scribbled, her scrawl even worse than the boy's in question.

_I think I have to apologise for my atrocious handwriting at the very beginning, just so I don__'__t look like an idiot. Well, I suppose even the calligraphy lessons have not managed to cure me of my ghastly scrawl. Mrs Dainworth, my tutor, says that she has never seen something so horrid in her entire life, which, in her own words, __'__is a great shame, as Lady Camilla [that__'__s my sister] has such a lovely handwriting__…'__ It__'__s really great to know I__'__m not the only one who can__'__t cope with calligraphy. _

_Answering your question, I want to tell you there is nothing I__'__d do more gladly than come to spend the New Year__'__s Eve with you and your friends. I think we will have a lovely time together. Is there any specific time at which I should arrive? It would be good to know in advance._

_Thank you ever so much for the invitation._

_Best wishes,_

_Olivia_

_PS No, not about handwriting. Is Rupert going to be there, or is he going to the Malfoys?_

Satisfied with her response, and still giggly after having read Harry's post scriptum, Olivia sent the owl on its way back to the Selwyn Castle. She smiled, happy with the turn of events. This was going to be even better than the Malfoys' ball.

The arrival of the white owl caused quite a consternation on number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The Weasley family was just sitting down to supper together with Sirius, Tonks and Remus, when they heard a claw pounding on the window.

'Mum!' cried Ginny, being the first one to notice the newest arrival. 'It's Hedwig! Something must have happened to Harry!'

Amidst the resulting commotion, Molly Weasley jumped out of her seat, dropping her cutlery on the table with a resounding _bang, _and dashing for the window.

'Let her in! Let her in, quickly!' she shouted, already in her mother-hen frenzy. 'Sweet Merlin, I knew we shouldn't have let the old hag have Harry for the holidays! Who knows what she had done with the poor boy. We had no news so far at all!'

Sirius was the first one to get to Hedwig. He caught the bird, untied the letter and unrolled it. He looked at the heading and smirked. Raising his head, he stared at all the expecting-looking faces.

'Well, the letter is for Ron and Hermione,' he said, handing the parchment over to the redhead, who was the closest of the two. 'It doesn't seem to me to be a cry for help.'

'Of course, it's not!' said Ron excitedly. 'He wants to invite us over for the New Year's Eve. Says his aunt let him throw a party for his friends as she's going to the Ministry. Probably didn't want him to be alone. We can go, right?' he asked, looking at his mother pointedly.

Mrs Weasley seemed thoughtful for a moment. 'Well, I suppose that since Harry's safe there, then you'll be too. It would be a shame to deprive the poor boy of the company of his friends, especially since he's in such a place. The old hag's going to the Ministry, leaving Harry alone. That's just irresponsible. Oh well, yes, I think you can go.'

'He also says that if Ginny and the twins want to come they are also invited,' Ron continued. 'The rest of the letter's for you,' he said, handing the parchment to Hermione. The girl snatched it greedily. Was Harry coming around?

'We are busy on New Year's Eve,' said Fred, grinning maniacally. 'Tell Harry we're sorry and thank him for the invitation, okay?'

Ron nodded his head and then turned to his sister. 'What about you?'

'I'm going to Michael's,' she said, a bit derisively. It was clear that it was probably going to be their last meeting.

'Okay then. Are you going, Hermione?' Ron asked, knowing precisely well what the letter said.

'I suppose. I think I care about Harry too much to just let him go like that.'

'It's settled then,' said Sirius, clasping his hands dramatically. 'Go and write back. The lad will want to know that you will come. Besides, you need to ask him when you should come. He seems to have forgotten about including that bit of information in the heat of the moment.'


	25. Chapter 25

Hi folks! And here we arrive at the end of the story. This is the final chapter of Stand Before Your God. I'll try to post the sequel soon, though not before I manage to update Realms of Might, as I've been working on the 4th chapter and I keep getting distracted. That said, on with the swill!

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Chapter 25 - Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?

However ridiculous it sounded to a potential observer, Harry had never been so excited in his entire life. On the New Year's Eve, he had woken up very early. It was still dark outside and Dotty hadn't yet come to light the fireplace, meaning that it had to be well before six, as that was precisely the time that the elf would usually start scrubbing the ash from the hearth.

Stretching with pleasure, Harry yawned widely, not bothering to cover his mouth. He grinned at the thought that, had they been present, both Rupert and Aunt Elizabeth would have bitten his head off for doing something so uncouth. Feeling well-rested despite the ungodly hour, Harry swung his feet onto the floor and marched happily towards the bathroom, where he quickly washed and groomed himself. He took special care to do it particularly thoroughly today. After all, it wouldn't do for a first-time host to appear unwashed at his own party.

The boy dressed in his standard attire of trousers, shirt and jumper, and flung a dark-blue robe over his shoulders, eager to quickly eat breakfast and practise his singing. Mr Patterson wouldn't be coming to do that with him, but Harry had really taken to heart the man's words that practising every day was of vital importance if he ever wanted to amount to anything in the Magic of Music.

'Dotty!' Harry called out upon exiting the bathroom. The elf immediately appeared, the slightly sleepy expression on her face changing quickly to the one meaning business and then going swiftly to utter bafflement when she saw Harry, completely dressed, waiting for her to appear.

'Master Harry?' Dotty queried, looking at the boy oddly. 'Is there a reason for Master Harry to be up so early?'

'Yes,' said the boy hurriedly. 'If you could please lit the fire and bring me some breakfast, I would greatly appreciate that. And please inform Aunt Elizabeth that I will not be breakfasting with her today. I need to practise. I'm sure she'll understand.'

Dotty bowed and disappeared only to appear a moment later, holding a silver tray full of victuals. She set it on the dressing table and, following another bow, began cleaning the fireplace.

With his stomach rumbling at the delicious smells that were emitted by the food brought by Dotty, Harry sat down and scrutinised his breakfast. There was a bowl of steamy porridge, a glass of freshly squeezed apple juice, two slices of toast set in a toast rack to keep them from getting soggy, a knob of butter on one of the porcelain saucers and a couple of slices of melon on the other.

Taking the first bite of his perfectly cooked toast, Harry wondered why on earth wasn't it all given to him from the start? Of course, had he been pampered so since the day he was born, he might never have come to appreciate it the way he did, but wasn't it better to be a spoilt little prince than a starved and hated orphan? After all, Rupert had never lacked for anything and he was still a nice chap. After having spent ten years in the cupboard under the stairs, in the home of the family that hated every fibre of his scrawny body, Harry had much more to hate the world for than he would have had had he been brought up in luxury. Obviously, he didn't hate the world per se, but the feeling of bitterness was there, lurking deep down in the bowels of his mind. The boy didn't want to blame anyone for what had happened to him. After all, no one could fathom how the things would be, but the grudge was still there, poisoning his outlook.

Drinking the juice, Harry continued to ponder his life. Why wasn't he sent to live with Grandmother Yekaterina after his parents were murdered? She died when he was nine. Was there even a fight for him among his relatives? Why was he left on the doorstep like a bottle of milk? Didn't anyone care? How come no one had noticed the way he was treated by the Dursleys? Mrs Figg was there, for Merlin's sake! Supposedly watching over him in lieu of Dumbledore. Had Professor Dumbledore never cared?

Harry felt so… helpless, with all these questions forming and no answers coming. It was so irritating. He hated not knowing something.

Leaving his breakfast with only the toast barely nibbled at and the juice half-drank, Harry walked over to the window and opened it. It was time to try his new powers.

The chill hit his face, but he smiled nonetheless. Relaxing completely, the boy closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. He could feel the nerves of his body dancing to his will.

'Yes…' he whispered, letting the soft breeze take control of his senses, exactly like Mr Patterson had taught him.

_Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,_

_Blow the wind south o__'__er the bonnie blue sea__…_

Harry tried singing his favourite song. His throat had already lost the coarseness which he felt when he woke up, but the sound still wasn't what he wanted it to be. Relaxing his shoulders and taking a deep breath of the frosty air, Harry sang once again:

_Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly,_

_Blow the wind south o__'__er the bonnie blue sea__…_

He smiled when the soft breeze hit his face stronger. The boy wanted to believe that it was his doing, not the natural instability of the elements, and the look of amazement on Dotty's face seemed to confirm his assumptions.

Harry sighed. He really wished he could do more with the Magic of Music than just make the wind blow, but judging by the fact that the art was very difficult, he considered even such a scrap of skill a great success.

He took out the songbook Mr Patterson had given him and flipped through the pages. With great disappointment, he came to the conclusion that all the songs were absolutely ordinary and he had no idea how to put magic into their words. He would need Mr Patterson's help. After all, what was he to do with a song where a young girl went from town to town looking for her lost soldier-sweetheart? He reckoned that not much magic could be done with it. Of course, as Mr Patterson had lectured on every occasion, he could use the emotion behind the song to raise the same emotion in the hearts of the listeners. And the girl's emotions were certainly love and wistfulness. But how could a person who had never loved anyone romantically fabricate such a strong emotion? Harry knew he needed much more life experience to be able to really use the Magic of Music.

His practice lasted until a soft knock on the door made him turn away from the window.

'Harry?' It was Aunt Elizabeth, probably curious as to what had caused her nephew to miss breakfast. 'Good morning,' she said, a smile creeping over her features upon seeing the almost untouched food on the tray. 'You've been singing again.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, the tone of his voice suggesting that he wasn't pleased with the way his practice had gone. 'Good morning to you too, Aunt Elizabeth.'

'What's wrong?' she asked, making herself comfortable on the cushioned chair of his dressing table.

'I don't know,' the boy replied, resigned. 'It's just… it takes so long! And I only know one song so far. I don't even know what to practise with! It's so annoying. I wish I could do more than just make the wind blow.'

'Can you really make the wind blow?' The genuine surprise in Aunt Elizabeth's voice had taken Harry aback.

'Yeah,' he said, unsure.

'Show me.'

Nodding his head, Harry turned towards the window and sang. As the soft wind swirled around the room, bringing a very faint smell of orange blossoms with it, Lady Elizabeth's eyes turned wide as saucers.

'Harry, do you realise that it usually takes years to get the results which you have managed in only a couple of days?' she asked, her voice still trembling with shock.

The boy blushed. 'Really?' That was unexpected.

'Yes. Your grandmother started to learn when she was five and it took her three years to get a flower to which she sang to blossom. And, mark my words, she was extremely talented.'

The boy stared at his aunt, suddenly seeing his ability in a whole new light.

'Are you telling me that by all rights I shouldn't be able to do even that?' he asked, gobsmacked. 'But it wasn't even that difficult.'

'Does Mr Patterson know what you can already do?'

Harry smiled sheepishly. 'No,' he said, twiddling his thumbs. 'I didn't tell him yet. I was hoping to have another lesson with him before I leave for Hogwarts, though.'

'Oh, that goes without a question!' exclaimed Aunt Elizabeth. 'You shall have a lesson tomorrow in the afternoon, and every day until you leave for Hogwarts. We want your talents to develop, after all. I'll try to arrange for you to receive the tuition at Hogwarts as well. But, as Magic of Music isn't exactly legal these days, we will have to come up with some cover-up story. I think that Latin tuition is a great idea. After all, it's something that you have to learn anyway; at least I don't see you functioning in the wizarding world without it, and you will need it to sing properly.'

Harry nodded his head, unable to say anything else. He was still slightly dazed after being told of his uniqueness.

'Well, I believe you have a breakfast to get on with,' said Aunt Elizabeth, raising gracefully from her seat. 'And I've got a ball to get ready for. Mrs Donnell, a stylist, is coming in two hours to help me prepare. When are your friends coming?'

'Ron and Hermione at noon, and Olivia when her parents leave for the Malfoys',' replied Harry absent-mindedly.

'When her parents leave for the Malfoys'?' Lady Elizabeth repeated suspiciously. 'Does she have a permission to come?'

'I think so,' said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. The woman squinted her eyes dangerously but said nothing.

'Well, it's already eight o'clock. Check if everything is in order. I will be leaving at three in the afternoon.'

'So early?'

'Yes. There are some things I need done at the Ministry before I actually go to the ball.'

Precisely at noon, Harry literally ran out of the heavy oaken doors of the Selwyn Castle, turning his footsteps towards the gates of the estate where he was supposed to meet with Ron and Hermione. He hadn't been so excited since the time Hagrid had told him that he was a wizard and took him to see all the wonders of Diagon Alley. The boy would get a silly grin spread over his features each time he thought of what was actually happening. He got to invite _his _best friends over to _his _home to attend _his _party. He was almost embarrassed to admit, even before himself, how ecstatic the thought had made him. After all, what was so unusual about it? Scores of kids had parties for their friends any time they wanted. But for Harry it was different. For the first time he had not only had _someone _to invite but also _somewhere _to invite them to. And, however one looked at it, his new home was something to kill for. The marvellous castle with the beautifully-kept grounds, and the village attached to the estate made the whole thing the envy of the less privileged. But Harry was not going to begrudge himself the luxury. He liked it and assumed that it was something he deserved like none other after having spent fourteen years as the charge of the Dursleys.

The boy stopped by the gate, panting slightly. He really should be doing more sport. Quidditch wasn't enough to keep him adequately fit, as it was only sitting on the broomstick, flying around. He didn't actually exercise all his muscles. For a moment, he fancied the thought of asking Umbridge to introduce swimming lessons or rowing. After all, Hogwarts' Lake was definitely big enough and the squid would only add to the excitement, not to mention all the other animals and beings one would have avoid to survive the lessons. Could be fun.

His musings were disturbed by the loud _crack _of the apparition. It was Smirt, bringing Ron and Hermione with him.

'Harry!' they cried in unison and ran over to the boy to squeeze him in a bear hug.

'Merlin's rotten…!' Harry gasped in shock caused by the sudden lack of air. 'You're strangling me!'

'We were so worried!' said Hermione, hugging Harry once again, this time much less forcefully. 'You have not written once!'

'She's right, mate, you know? Mum completely freaked out when she's seen your owl. Thought something happened to you.'

For a moment, Harry had a decency to look properly embarrassed, but it didn't take long for him to get defensive.

'I've talked to Sirius twice!' he said indignantly. 'Through the mirror he gave me over the summer holidays. Once on the Christmas Eve and then something like four days ago, I think.'

'He didn't tell us a thing!' said Hermione furiously. 'And he could see how worried everyone had been!'

'Well, not my fault.' Harry shrugged his shoulders. 'Let's go inside. I'll show you around. Smirt, make something to eat, will you?'

Ignoring Hermione's scowl upon hearing his disrespectful treatment of the house-elf, Harry proceeded to guide his friends through the gates.

'Whoa!' exclaimed Ron, seeing the Selwyn Castle in all its mediaeval glory. His reaction was belated by the tall stone wall that surrounded the estate and fenced the castle from the prying eyes of the public. 'Is that where you live?'

'Yeah,' said Harry, feeling a bit uncomfortable. He knew that the place was gorgeous and was interested to see the reaction of his friends when they are confronted with the building, but now, having received exactly what be bargained for, Harry felt a bit uneasy. He'd really rather prefer Ron to keep his reactions to himself.

'It's a very nice house,' Hermione interjected diplomatically. 'How many people live here?'

'It's just me and my Aunt,' he replied, relaxing a bit but still missing the acidic undertone in the girl's question.

'Isn't that a bit odd, though?' she asked the still oblivious Harry. 'That only two people live here? Shouldn't you just open the house to the public as a museum, or maybe open a school or an orphanage, and live in a cottage somewhere in the grounds?'

Harry stared at her incredulously.

'Why would we do that? Why would Aunt Elizabeth want to do that? After all, it's her home. Generations of her family had lived here. There are the signs of their past in every corner of the house.'

'Because it would be the right thing to do! There are so many people out there barely making a living while you live in luxury. There are children dying of hunger on the streets in the third world countries. They could be all helped if only people who have wealth weren't too selfish to share.'

Harry really didn't know what to say to that so he just made a non-committal grunt and kept quiet. Hermione, he noticed, smiled victoriously, while Ron looked at the girl with a glint of admiration in his eyes but his confused face betrayed that he didn't completely understand what she was talking about. Ron, as every Weasley, apart from the twins maybe, possessed a certain disdain for people who held vast amounts of money and wealth.

'Let's go to the conservatory,' said Harry, trying to lessen the sudden heaviness of the atmosphere. He was beginning to wonder whether it wouldn't have been better to just spend the New Year's Eve alone in bed. 'Smirt must have prepared something nice to eat by now.'

'This is very nice,' said Hermione, after licking the remnants of pudding from the back of the spoon. Harry scrunched his nose discreetly. Not three days ago, Rupert told him that lack of table manners was more disgusting than snuff drippings and for some reason he couldn't get that out of his head, judging everyone he met on the manner they ate. It didn't particularly matter that his own manners were far from ideal. He just noticed, and that was it.

'Thank you, Smirt,' the girl continued, smiling brightly at the elf who was at the time removing the dirty dishes from the table. Smirt bowed, his nose almost touching the ground. Harry grinned. The Selwyns' house-elves were used to being treated quite courteously and never made fuss about it.

'Miss is being very nice. Would Miss like anything else?' said Smirt, his smile even broader than a moment before.

It was the moment. Harry almost snorted as the girl refused, thinking that she was doing the elf a favour. After all, why would she bother the little creature? What she didn't know, however, was that if a praised house-elf asked a guest of the house if they needed anything, the answer should always be affirmative. It didn't matter if it was a request for the house-elf to light a candle in the downstairs loo or whether it was a request for an additional slice of cake. Something had to be done unless one wanted to deeply offend the creature. And, of course, house-elves rarely had any immediate contact with Muggleborns, therefore they did not understand that someone would not know about that custom. For them, it was either a request or a shame.

Seeing Smirt's ears flattening, Harry quickly told the elf to bring them more pumpkin juice. Hermione, who missed the creature's eagerness to serve, shot him a dirty look.

'You shouldn't make him work so hard,' she said harshly. 'He's just made the whole feast for you. Really, Harry, I couldn't have imagined that three weeks of living in this place would have changed you so much.'

'You've just offended him,' the boy replied coldly. He was getting more and more irritated by a minute. 'I was merely trying to make him feel better.'

Hermione shot him a sceptical glance. She was about to open her mouth to retort when the door opened and a very much regal figure stepped through the threshold.

Lady Elizabeth decided to check up on her nephew one last time before she left for the Ministry. Dressed in velvets and cashmeres, she descended upon the youth that seemed to have just had a minor disagreement. Her lips almost twitched when she noticed how gobsmacked her nephew's companions appeared seeing their friend's imposing aunt.

'Good afternoon,' she said, her face instantly scrunching with disgruntlement. Where were these children's manners? Had they been brought up in the wilderness?

'Hello,' they all replied in unison. The woman noticed that Hermione, the apparently Muggleborn witch, fixed her with an odd stare. How rude.

'Good afternoon, Miss Selwyn,' said Hermione politely when the first shock had worn off. 'It's a pleasure to be here, at your house. Thank you for letting us stay.'

Lady Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up at that. She may yet have to re-evaluate her immediate assessment of the girl. Begrudgingly, the woman admitted that the young witch was well-behaved, even though she had already been told the stories of Hermione's being fiercely against any kind of Dark magic.

So much, however, could never be said about the redheaded boy. He was staring at her unashamedly as if she were an exhibition in a museum. Surely, it must have been his atrocious Weasley-breeding. The Society still could not understand how young Molly Prewett could have turned her back on them all these years ago to marry the penniless Arthur Weasley, a pureblood, albeit still a disgrace to the noble race of wizards. And, of course, the results of such a misalliance could never be anything but a complete disaster.

'Yes,' Lady Elizabeth said warily. 'You are quite welcome to stay. Any friend of Harry is always welcome.'

There was a brief moment of odd silence but finally, after clearing her throat softly, Lady Elizabeth spoke once again.

'I hope you have a lovely time together. And Harry, remember the rules, please.'

The boy nodded his head, letting on that he understood precisely the results of any insubordination. With a smile, the woman bid the kids goodbye and left the room.

'Holy Merlin's hairy arse!' cried Ron, his eyes almost falling out of their sockets. 'What the hell was that? Was that your aunt, mate?'

The boy was most probably referring to the magnificent attire Lady Elizabeth had sported, but, nonetheless, the question sent chills down Harry's spine.

'Yeah,' the boy replied coldly, not liking his friend's way of speaking. 'She's going to the Ministry Ball, as I told you. It's a very formal event. As in, white-tie formal. You can't just show up in rags.'

'Yes, but that? Who dresses like that? Holy shit, mate, she looked like someone from those old eighteenth-century portraits at Grimmauld Place! That's like… mediaeval!'

Trying to dissolve the heaviness of the atmosphere, Hermione quickly interjected, before Harry had a chance to answer angrily or, worse, thrash Ron for speaking like that about his family.

'So Harry, who's that girl you mentioned in your letter? When is she coming?' she asked, trying to sound neutral, which wasn't particularly easy as the boy was still fuming silently and Ron still looked as if he wasn't finished with his rant.

'Oh, it's just Olivia. She'll be here soon. As soon as her family leaves for the… erm… for the other ball,' he said through gritted teeth. He was certain that saying 'Lady Olivia Holloway' and ' the Malfoy's New Year's Eve Ball' would guarantee a rather cold reception of his new acquaintance and that was something he'd rather avoid. The inconspicuous 'Olivia' and 'the other ball' were the far better choices.

'Oh, isn't she going with her parents?' Hermione seemed genuinely surprised.

'Well, apparently, she was deemed too young for formal social functions,' the boy replied uninterestingly. What was important for him was the fact that Lady Olivia was coming to his little gathering. He decided to change the name from 'party' to 'gathering' because he wasn't sure if he could lead an entertaining event. To call the thing a party put too much pressure on the host, in his opinion, while a gathering bore no fancy connotations and could be much more relaxed. No one would now expect him to dance or to turn on loud music. A couple of well-placed witticisms, a funny song maybe, that was all his guests would be expecting.

'Too young?' asked Ron, a bit forcefully, as if he wasn't happy with the prospect of spending his evening with some female squirt. 'How old is she, then?'

'Oh, she's our age,' Harry assured them. 'It's just, her parents are quite traditional and conservative and they don't want to let her go to a ball yet.'

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. It didn't escape her attention earlier that Harry neglected to provide his newest acquaintance's surname and she kept wondering whether it was deliberate, because he was worried about their reaction, or because he just simply forgot. Hermione was pretty certain that Harry had first met this Olivia at the ball his aunt had organised for Christmas, which meant that the girl couldn't be just anyone. Probably some pureblood aristocrat, which would also explain while the boy failed to provide them with details of her name. One could understand his reluctance, especially since it meant introducing the girl, an already proclaimed scion of an aristocratic family, to Ron, who would definitely treat her with disdain. Not that Hermione particularly disagreed. She didn't like snobbishness and the remnants of the feudal system were all but egalitarian and fair. But, on the other hand, her conscience argued, one was not responsible for one's birth (she was a Muggleborn, after all) and she was willing to give Olivia a chance. She concluded that if Harry liked her, then there must be something in the girl that drew him in. Then again, the boy had recently been behaving increasingly oddly, so his judgement might therefore have been a little bit skewed.

The girl's musings were disturbed by the _crack_ of apparition. She jumped in her seat slightly, startled, and turned her head to face the creature dressed in a clean, starched pillowcase. It was another house-elf, one she had not had the pleasure to meet yet.

'Dotty,' said Harry, his voice betraying a hint of surprise. 'What is it?'

'Lady Olivia Holloway is waiting for the permission to floo in, Master Harry,' said the elf, bowing deeply, unknowingly making the boy wish he could strangle the creature. His whole charade had just gone down the drain.

'Let her in and bring her here,' he said authoritatively. When Dotty disapparated again, Harry turned around to face his friends. For all he expected, it was definitely not what he got.

'Lady Olivia Holloway?' Ron parroted the elf. '_Lady _Olivia _Holloway_?' he repeated, his voice as incredulous as the expression on his face. 'What sort of company do you now keep, mate? Do you know anything about her family? It's just a bunch of Dark wizards, worse than the Malfoys!'

'Ron, really, Olivia is not…' Harry started explaining, but he wasn't given the chance to finish.

'Is not _what_? Not that bad? You don't know what you're taking about,' said Ron angrily, his ears turning the deep shade of red. 'The Holloways have always been Dark. It's in their blood. And however nice your lassie may sound, she's going to be a bad influence! Probably a Death Eater wife in the making!'

'But Ron, you don't understand. I don't…' he trailed off, seeing Dotty enter the conservatory with Lady Olivia following closely behind. Dear Merlin, how was it going to end?

'Holloway,' Ron snarled hatefully. The girl looked at him, surprised, but upon seeing the exasperated faces of the other occupants of the room, she quickly managed to connect the dots.

'Weasley,' she said with cold courtesy. 'I see that my reputation has preceded me. Not something I can say about you, that's for sure.'

'You blasted, Dark…!'

'Stop!' Harry shouted, breaking Ron's insult mid-sentence. A shocked silence greeted his words. 'I invited all of you because I consider you friends. And I want us to act like friends.'

'If you think that I'm going to be friendly with that hag…'

Harry smacked his forehead in exasperation. What on earth made him invite them all at once?

'Ron, Olivia has done nothing wrong. Could you please be civil?' he said tiredly, apparently struggling to cope with the fact that his best friend had just insulted a person upon whom he really hoped to make a good impression, that the said best friend was very important to him and that, for some reason, he really wanted his acquaintance with Lady Olivia to develop into friendship as well.

Ron only stared at Harry, the grimace of wild fury on his face saying the million words that had thankfully remained unspoken, and stomped out of the door, shouldering Harry on the way and muttering something like 'I need to cool down' as he passed his best friend.

'I'm really sorry about that,' said Harry apologetically as Ron left the room. He was looking absolutely embarrassed, his eyes firmly fixed on his shoes. Lady Olivia smiled, indicating that she did not hold Harry responsible for the actions of his friend. 'Olivia, this is Hermione Granger,' he continued, seeing that he had been forgiven. 'Hermione, this is Olivia Holloway.'

The girls shook hands and smiled at each other warily. Lady Olivia had never met a Muggleborn before, therefore she didn't really know what to expect. Harry had, of course, told her about Hermione and how she caused Mr Riggs of Flourish & Blotts to get arrested and almost executed, but she was quite curious of the girl, nonetheless.

'It's nice to meet you,' said Olivia, letting go of the other girl's hand and sending her one of her charming smiles.

'Likewise,' replied Hermione, also smiling.

Inwardly, Harry let out a deep sigh of relief. If only Ron would come around, too. Happy, at least partially, with the turn of events, he invited the girls to sit at the table and help themselves to the food.

'It's a shame Rupert can't be with us,' said Lady Olivia, scooping some salad onto her plate. Harry nodded in agreement. They had so many plans and everything had to be altered because Lord David Fellowes, Rupert's father, decided to take him to the Malfoys.

'Rupert?' asked Hermione, elegantly cutting off a piece of her roast chicken breast. With amusement, Harry noticed that his friend had been trying hard to emulate Lady Olivia's impeccable table manners. Well, not that he had never emulated anyone. It was a normal occurrence that he would usually eat exactly the way Rupert did, just so that he didn't annoy his aunt, who absolutely hated bad table manners. But, nevertheless, seeing Hermione trying to fit in was extremely cheering.

'My cousin,' Harry explained. 'He was supposed to be here with us but unfortunately his father wanted him to go… erm… somewhere else.' The boy stumbled a bit, not wanting to let on that Rupert had actually gone to Malfoy Manor. And, obviously, he neglected to mention that had the boy not done so, Hermione wouldn't be sitting there with him.

After the meal, they went upstairs to Harry's rooms where they were shortly joined by Ron. The boy, though still from time to time glaring thunderously at Lady Olivia, tried to behave civilly. They played a couple of Exploding Snap games and Olivia and Hermione had even agreed to a game that looked similar to Persians and Medes, but was in fact concocted about a week ago by Rupert who had early in the morning barged into Harry's bedroom, jumped on him while the boy was still sleeping soundly and started hitting him with a pillow.

'Merlin, I should have worn trousers,' said Olivia when she sat on the sofa, her hair even more messy than usual and her cheeks flushed from the pillow-fight.

'You can borrow some of mine,' said Harry mischievously.

'I don't know… I don't think that my gorgeous bits would go nicely in anything that you have been squeezing your scrawny bum into,' she retorted, grinning. She had definitely won this round.

'Eh…' Harry waved his hand dismissively. 'How on earth is a boy supposed to be a gentleman in these times is absolutely beyond me.'

Hermione and Olivia laughed, but Ron looked at Harry with distaste, as if he was wondering how the boy could possibly joke with a Holloway.

'So, Harry,' said Ron innocently. 'Have you got anything _stronger_?'

'Stronger?' the boy repeated stupidly. 'Not really. Aunt Elizabeth would have my head if we had even a drop of anything stronger.'

'And you call that a party?' whined Weasley, tossing his body forcefully back on the sofa. 'You mean to tell me that you deprived me of the delightful company of my mother only to come here and drink _pumpkin juice_?'

Harry blushed a furious shade of red. Of course, he could tell that Ron was joking, but there was an undertone that told him that his friend was actually quite disappointed.

'Maybe we could go to the village, then?' Ron almost jumped in his seat, giddy with excitement, as if he had just come up with another brilliant idea. 'The one just outside your gates?' he added, as if there was any doubt as to what village he had been referring.

'I'm really not supposed to go there,' said Harry, getting even redder. It was so lame and so embarrassing. 'Aunt Elizabeth…' he tried to explain, but was stopped mid-sentence.

'Oh, come on, Harry! She's not here. She won't find out. And you're being boring.' To emphasise his point, Ron yawned widely, not bothering to cover his mouth.

'I don't think you should be doing it, Harry,' said Hermione seriously. 'If your aunt told you not to, then you shouldn't.'

At this point, Harry wanted nothing more but for the ground to open and swallow him whole. He wanted to show himself as an independent young man, free from any rigorous restrictions put on him by his aunt. The problem was, Aunt Elizabeth was a very strict guardian and she wouldn't condone any nonsense. And she told him not to go to the village.

'You have the whole castle and the grounds to roam,' she said yesterday, when she had been going over the rules with him for the nth time. And he promised he wouldn't go anywhere. But now, with Ron baiting him, however jokily it was, he felt like a sissy.

'Let's go to the gardens,' he said finally. He wasn't yet ready to break the word he'd given to his aunt. And, who knows, maybe he wouldn't have to break it at all? 'We could take boats and row on the lake, or maybe do something else. We'll see.'

'Your friend doesn't like me,' said Lady Olivia quietly. They were in one of the two boats on the lake beside the Selwyn Castle, Ron and Hermione occupying the other. It was already dark outside but they didn't feel threatened. The chilly breeze soothed their nerves and made for a pleasant evening.

Harry snorted. 'That's probably an understatement of the century, if there ever was one,' he said a bit tactlessly. 'Ron's pretty thick-headed when it comes to the Society.'

Lady Olivia nodded her head. She could understand it perfectly. After all, the boy was not the only one. Her own family had been quite thick-headed, too. Only the direction of their disdain was different.

'He wasn't very nice to you today,' she noticed carefully. She had a feeling that she was treading on a very thin ice.

'No,' Harry confirmed, swinging the right oar slightly more forcefully. 'I think they don't like that I keep the company of people like you and Aunt Elizabeth, and Rupert. I suppose they are afraid that when we get back to school I will go gallivanting with Malfoy or other Slytherins. You know, big, bad, Dark Slytherins,' he snorted bitterly. 'But, you know what's the hardest thing of all?'

Harry didn't know why he decided to confide in Olivia. It just felt so natural, and she was such a good listener. And, above all, he needed to get all his doubts off his chest. He needed to heaviness to go, so he would be able to breathe freely again.

That's why when the girl had shook her head and sent him a look full of anticipation, he spilled the beans completely.

'I really like it here,' Harry admitted, 'and I really don't want to lose my family again. I suppose that I just grew attached to Aunt Elizabeth and everything else. The problem is, they just can't accept it. They can't accept that I feel happy with how things are. They think I should find another way, something else to bring me happiness. But I don't want anything else. I tried. I really tried to make things work. To be sort of neutral. Fit in both groups. To… you know, as they say, "play the flute or play the harp depending where I am."' Harry laughed bitterly. 'But they just don't want to let it go. And I don't know what to do, because I don't want to lose them, but I also want to keep my family close.'

Lady Olivia looked at Harry thoughtfully for a moment. She wasn't sure what to say.

'I'm sorry,' the boy said, burying his head in his palms. 'I know it's pathetic. Sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned that.'

'No, it's not,' she said quietly, putting her hand on Harry's shoulder. 'We all have our moments.' She smiled, trying to offer some support. 'You know, Harry, sometimes there's just no middle ground. Sometimes it's not possible to keep everyone happy. Fence-straddling may seem like the best option but sometimes it's just simply _not_ an option. And, you know, I think this might be exactly one of those _sometimes_. When it comes to magic and family, you can't just, as you said, "play the flute or play the harp". You have to stand before your God and commit.'


	26. SEQUEL alert

Giving due consideration to all of you who have been following this story and may not yet be aware that the promised sequel has been posted, allow me to invite you over to take a look at **All the King's Men**, the sequel. I would also like to take this opportunity to say a huge thank you to all of you who have reviewed, favourited or liked this story. You folks are fantastic! Cheers!


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